Life is Like a Box of Zombies
by KNewer
Summary: Said no one ever. Well, Clayton might have, but he's not here anymore and I was left to struggle and deal with this new world on my own with strangers. Updated once a week. Rated for post-apocalyptic mouths. Pairings not decided.
1. Chapter 1

*EDITED because FFnet hates my linebreaks.*

Chapter 1

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks of hiding under the bed or in the bathroom, too scared to confront the moaning, rotting dead bumping and scratching against the door outside. Two weeks of my fingers rubbing the two bullets in my pocket. Two bullets for the only gun we'd been able to find in the madness of the outbreak. Two for us to opt out; one for myself and one for Murphy. Two weeks of having to eat cold canned meals; the electricity had long been dead. And stale, dry cereal; we'd already went through all the milk.

Two weeks since any hope of squeezing some miracle out of my cellphone's battery. Two weeks since I'd last heard from Clayton. Two weeks of dwindling hope and will to live.

We were supposed to be celebrating Murphy's birthday. Not cowering on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. We were supposed to be getting drunk and trying to make each other sick on amusement park food, seeing who could ride the biggest, baddest roller coaster the most. Not getting sick off bad lunch meat and fingering the gun, thinking about playing Russian roulette to escape reality.

Not wondering if our best friend had fallen victim to this plague.

Murphy is beginning to worry me. He stares at the door to the motel room. His eyes unblinking and mouth pinch tightly as something scratches the door. His gun resting on his thigh, fingers curled loosely around the handle and trigger, tighten with each noise.

It's been a few days and now Murphy doesn't speak often and he's taken to pacing, stopping a foot shy of the door. I ask him what he's doing, but he doesn't answer, he just continues to stare at the dirty motel room door, the gun glinting dangerously in the sliver of sunlight that escapes through the curtains.

A day later and I wake to an empty room.

Murphy has left me and I can't understand why. We'd agreed to stay together, to wait for Clayton as long as possible. I pace the room, my hand working the knots in my hair painfully. I tear a few out and draw the strands in front of my face, its fine and reminds me of spider's silk.

I jump when something slams against the door, no doubt something dead and desperate for food. Like I am. The hunger pains haven't died down. The dizziness and haze that's descended over the past few days have nearly left me crippled.

If something got in, I wouldn't be able to fight it off. I don't know if I'd want to. Not anymore.

But it isn't something dead that's hit the door. Well, not deliberately because it's Murphy that's viciously kicked the rotter into it. He strides in, arms loaded with sacks and brown hair slicked to his forehead with sweat. He drops the bags to turn and shoot the rotter in the head before kicking it out of the room.

"You ok?" He asks as he swipes his forearm across his face.

I nod, unsure of what to make of this new Murphy. This fearless man that just days before was holed up in the bathroom, discussing who would shoot who.

He squats in front of a bag and tears into it. He withdraws a gun, a small one. I recognize it immediately, "A .308." I observe.

He nods, eyes roving the contents of the bag. A bag full of weapons, "I remember you saying your mom had one, that you knew how to use it."

"Yea," I acknowledge, not sure what Murphy is planning.

He throws the gun, in its holster, to me and I scramble to catch it, "Need to work on your reflexes."

My brows furrow, "Reflexes?" I repeat dumbly.

He sighs at me and stands, looking me in the eye. His cobalt orbs are hard. Determined. A certain detached coldness lurks beneath the surface and it scares me. This wasn't the Murphy I'd known for almost a decade. "If we're going to survive, we both need to be on our toes, Laurel."

"And Clayton?" I was scared to ask. Terrified of the cold, unfeeling response that Murphy was going to give me.

A sliver of pain crossed his face before he turned those cold eyes back on me, "We can't stay here." The unspoken, '_face it, he's dead'_ was left hanging, tense and thick in the air.

My hand tightened on the Ruger LCP in my hands, the two bullets in my pocket burned.

The burn behind my eyes was persistent and the tightness in my throat was hard to ignore. I stopped breathing, the pressure in my head throbbed in sync with my heart as I tried to battle my emotions. The breath I sucked in shuddered and it made Murphy twitch. "Can we stay one more week?"

He shifted and pinched the bridge of his nose. I waited, eyes cast downwards as I waited for him to tell me no, but he surprised me.

"One more week." He relented.

I smiled at him weakly, "Thank you."

He shrugged and looked away from me. Things were never this hard before. Things were never this tense or awkward. It hurt me. Twisted painfully in my chest because I didn't know how to change with him.

I kicked his booted foot, "Teach me how to load the gun."

He eyed me and took the gun from me and quietly loaded and unloaded the gun clip, his fingers moving deftly and quickly, then handed it and the shells back and watched me expectantly. I exhaled sharply and began filling the clip, my thumb pushing the bullets in mechanically and slowly. His hands would stop to correct me, show where I could improve and pick up speed. He wouldn't let me stop until I could load the 10 round magazine without fumbling with the bullets.

/

_The beep of keying in was soothing, normal, "Hey Murphy, where do you wanna go for your birthday?" I asked as I ran to his rescue. He was pulling everything in the dungeon, albeit, it was five levels too low for us to need a full group, there were _some_ limitations._

_Clayton keyed in, his voice murky and muffled by his cheap mic and fan that he kept on to cool his computer, "I'm dead."_

_I sighed and shook my head, "Nothing new there. You're always dead." _

_Murphy chuckled over vent, "I was thinking about the beach, but I kind of want to go to a theme park."_

"_I've only ever been to Six-Flags in Texas and Magic Springs in Arkansas. So my knowledge is a bit lacking." I threw in offhandedly as I began to rez Clayton's character. I saw Murphy's health bar drop to zero. I keyed in for them to hear me make a noise of frustration in the back of my throat, "Murph, chill!"_

"_You know, Six-Flags over Georgia is supposed to be pretty awesome," Murphy replied as his body released to run back into the instance. I hated when he did that._

"_Why couldn't we do both?" Clayton asked as he pulled another dozen groups. I groaned and raced to catch up with him. _

"_Both what?" Murphy asked._

"_The beach and Six-Flags. Damnit, I'm dead again."_

_I groaned into the mic, "So am I."_

"_On my way back, I'll rez you guys."_

_As we waited on Murphy, getting lost and turned around like he always did, I asked, "Why not just make one big trip of it? Six-Flags, the beach and then SeaWorld?"_

"_Why not Disney?" Clayton asked. _

"_If it's a tossup between the two, I want SeaWorld."_

_I accepted the rez from Murphy, tossing a heal on myself and then Clayton, "Why can't we do both?" Murphy asked._

"_As long as everyone can afford it," I ventured, "This isn't gonna be a cheap trip."_

_I heard Clayton snort, "Believe it or not, I _have_ been saving for Murphy's birthday."_

"_Really?" I asked in shock before I recovered and cleared my throat, "Well, it's settled then," I announced, "Murphy, your birthday is officially way more awesome than both mine and Clayton's combined."_

_He laughed and cheered over vent and we finished the rest of the dungeon, dying a few more times because I kept getting distracted and the guys kept pulling hallways of mobs._

I woke, twisted in my sheets and sweaty from the unrelenting heat, wondering why, of all memories, I had dreamed that one.

/

Murphy was on one of his 'runs' again. I really wished he'd let me know when he was going out instead of letting me wake up to find him gone.

I threw the one sheet I could stand on my body at night off and peeled myself from the bed. The room was stuffy, the air stagnant and uncomfortably hot. I turned the sink faucet on and received nothing but groaning pipes.

This was a recent and extremely troubling development. No clean water meant we could only stay as long as our bottled water lasted and we only had two and half flats left.

I sighed and knew that our days at the motel were numbered. I blindly grabbed a can of food and the manual can opener that Murphy had brought back. I walked around the room, turning the opener around the can and thinking.

Maybe I could ask for one more night.

I popped the can lid open and frowned. Green beans. I hated green beans. My nose wrinkled at the smell and I fidgeted in my spot. The zombie apocalypse hadn't changed my tastes yet. I suppose in a couple months I won't hesitate, but for now, I'd leave them for Murphy.

I went back to the canned food pyramid we'd made in our boredom and grabbed the last can of spaghetti and meatballs. I'd cry later about it when I remembered all we had was veggies left.

I was so used to Murphy just popping in and out of the room that I didn't turn around immediately when the door opened.

Something else for me to learn. Vigilance.

Spoon in mouth, I turned in curiosity when the door remained open. My eyes locked with warm brown, the smile on his face broad and just _happy_.

"Well, we can leave now, Laurel," Murphy said as he leaned against the door frame. A cheeky grin, the first I'd seen since we met in Knoxville, the first since this shit happened, was curled across his unshaven face. His cobalt eyes lit with happiness.

A strangled cry ripped from my throat as I launched myself at our visitor, "Oh god Clayton, I– we thought you were dead!"

His heavy arms wrapped around my waist and I buried my face in his thick, bristly beard. He was laughing breathily, crying and swinging me around.

"What took you so long?" I choked out. I didn't want to let go, afraid that when I did he'd vanish. That my mind was playing a cruel, cruel trick on me.

He dropped me to the ground and wiped the tears from his face, knocking his glasses askew, "The last you talked to me, the virus hadn't hit that far inland but halfway through Arkansas is when it started. I got caught up near Little Rock when the roads where shut down by the military. They were checking everyone," his thumbs wiped the tears off my face and he swallowed thickly, "They were scared and jumpy and one of them shot a guy walking up the road from the other side. He wasn't one of them, had a baby in his arms. It was quiet for a moment, but once that happened, people were swarming out of the cars, furious and the army was shouting and waving guns around. People were screaming, panicked and scared. Then, something just snapped, they gunned down that entire side of the blockade. Everyone just took off running."

He took a deep breath, "Had to find another car. I almost didn't make it here. Could you two have picked a more out of the way place?" He joked after shaking his body of the memory.

I frowned, "When was the last time you ate?"

"Just outside. Murphy threw a bottle of water at my face," he growled, glaring at the man still standing in the doorway, his leg and arms crossed casually. His brow arched and he smiled, "Just checking your reflexes man!"

I eyed them and shifted, "Can you two get in here and close the door."

Murphy shrugged, "Room was stuffy. It needed to be aired out." He levered himself off the frame and sauntered into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

Clayton plopped down on the bed and sighed, "I haven't slept in a bed since I left San Angelo." His hand picked at his Hawaiian shirt, trying to fan a breeze across his dark skin.

Murphy sat next to him and slapped Clayton's knee, "Why don't you get some sleep then, I can take first watch."

I frowned, "Murph, you haven't slept I don't know how long," he shot me a warning glare. I ignored it, "I'll take first watch."

"I slept last night," he retorted.

I quirked a brow, "Really? Cause you weren't in bed any of the times I woke up and I wake up pretty consistently. You know, like every hour."

"I'm fine," he ground out.

I rolled my eyes at him, "Fine," I snapped, "Be stubborn, pass out and get eaten." I turned before I could see his face.

It had been this way since I asked him to stay at the motel longer. We were short with each other and I couldn't stand it. I rubbed my eyes wearily, staunching the tears forcefully. Black dots blossomed behind my lids.

"Have I missed something?" Clayton murmured. I snorted, "Ask Murph."

I crawled into bed, ignoring the glare I could feel burning into my back. I missed Murphy.

/

The bed dipped and swayed, bringing my mind swimming up from the depths of my dreams and I blearily looked toward the disturbance.

"What?" I croaked through my sleep laden throat.

Murphy looked down, his eyes troubled and he worried his lips against his teeth, "I'm sorry." He whispered.

I softened and reached out, wrapping my hand around his wrist and tugged him forward. He settled on his back next to me. He was looking at the ceiling and for a moment, I saw the old Murphy. The one that was scared and lost.

"Murphy?" It was barely a whisper and I was surprised he heard it.

"Yea?"

"Is everything alright?" I asked, my eyes tracing his profile in the dark. His lips trembled.

He shifted and turned towards me, "Yea, why wouldn't it be?"

I twined my fingers through his, "I'm just worried about you."

He sighed and tugged me towards him, "Nothing to worry about."

And that was Murphy, old and new. If something was bothering him, he wouldn't talk about it unless he wanted to, no matter how much I pried.

"Sleep," he murmured as he slug his arm around me and rubbed my back.

"Promise me you'll talk to me if something is wrong," I pleaded.

He chuckled, "I thought you didn't like promises."

"You know why," I muttered and he squeezed my arm, "It's different when I ask for them because I know not to be disappointed when you break them."

His body stiffened and I feared he was going to pull away. My hand tightened around his unconsciously. He sighed and then snaked his legs in between mine, "I promise."

I threw my arms around him in an impromptu hug, "Thank you."

/

"What's the plan?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, chewing through a particularly hard granola bar.

Murphy shrugged, "Not really sure. I just know we can't stay here any longer."

"What about going to Fort Benning? Emily was stationed there the last I talked to her." I suggested, "I don't know any of the other bases around, otherwise I'd suggest those."

Murphy's brows knitted and he paced the empty floor in front of the beds, "It's a plan, the only one we've thought of," he nodded and his eyes darted to Clayton.

He held his hands up and chuckled, "I'm just along for the ride," he joked.

"Alright," Murphy began, glancing at me before squatting in front of a bag. He rummaged around in it for a moment before throwing a folded up map at me, "You're the navigator. Map us out a route."

I snorted, "Why am I the one you're putting in charge of this?"

"Seriously," Clayton balked, "You're the only one of us that doesn't get lost. Ever."

I rolled my eyes and unfolded the map, smoothing it across the bed in front of me. I jerked back in surprise when a highlighter pelted me in the head and fell to my folded lap. I glared up at Murphy, who was pointing at Clayton, who was staring off into the middle distance.

"Children." I grumbled.

I glared at the map and huffed, "Murph, I love ya and all, but this isn't gonna get us anywhere near Fort Benning."

He looked indignant and folded his arms across his chest, "Why not?"

"Well," I began dryly, "Fort Benning is in Georgia."

"And?"

"And," I repeated and picked up a corner of the map to show him," Unless Georgia has taken on the shape of Tennessee, I don't see how this map will help."

A choked laugh came out of Clayton and Murphy's face fell, "I'll be back."

/

We were finally on the road and I kept going over the map, trying to route us around large cities.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Tessa after all this happened?" Clayton asked.

I stuffed the map up on the dashboard, eyes stained and carsick from highlighting the dizzying roads. I twisted around in the seat, worrying my lip, "Her and Jeremy were still in Minnesota when I last talked to them. They didn't have a plan, didn't even seem like they believed the reports since nothing had happened there yet."

Clayton grabbed my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "They're both alright. Jeremy probably got them to his shifu's house. Korean's are resilient," he reassured lightly.

I nodded not wanting to think of the alternative.

Murphy suddenly jerked the car to the side, weaving in and out of stalled out cars. My stomach rolled dangerously and I lurched back into my seat, sinking down into it. Murphy grinned wickedly, "You alright over there, navigator?"

"Asshole," I closed my eyes and breathed slowly through my nose.

I could feel the car slow and he chuckled a little before rubbing my shoulder, "We're getting close to Calhoun, which way we wanna take to get around Atlanta?"

I blearily made for the map that I had stuffed up on the dashboard and stared at it for a long moment, letting my eyes refocus. The headache building behind my eyes whispered promises of a full blown migraine tonight, "Towards Marietta and East Point. Will keep us on the West side of Atlanta and then we can keep going South East after that to Benning."

I breathed through my nose again, eyes squeezed tight. I rubbed my temples and my hands threaded through my hair, pressing tight against my scalp. I heard Clayton shift in the back and his large hands, calloused from years of plucking bass strings, reached around my head rest and gripped my head. His fingers pressed and released in a steady rhythm as he guided them through my hair and around my scalp. I groaned in relief and thanked him by offering him the next pack of Shiner I found. His laugh filled the car.

/

We stopped at a hotel just outside of Calhoun after grabbing some essentials. Apparently, essentials to Clayton was a guitar and a case of beer. He strummed and picked out a melody, his baritone humming along with the notes.

I sat with my eyes closed, enjoying the peace, enjoying the music that had long since died out with the rest of the world. Clayton's voice picked up the song I hadn't recognized. It was soft and delicate, something so precious and lost to this new world. I felt like it would shatter at any moment, something so beautiful shouldn't exist in a world so ugly.

Their voices tapered off and the last string was plucked. Clayton sat the guitar down on the floor gently, grabbing up a can of beer and took a long draw from it. He sighed, bliss erupting on his face. "God, I haven't had a beer since my last gig."

I blinked, "You haven't? I thought you mainlined that shit?"

He feigned hurt, "You wound me, Laurel. I didn't drink _that_ much."

Murphy cleared his throat of what suspiciously sounded like a laugh. I grinned, "Says the man that used to text me at three and four in the morning about how drunk you were and Confucian sayings about condoms."

He grinned dreamily, "Ah, the good old days."

We were quiet for a moment. "Hey Laurel?"

"Yea?"

"Murphy and I found you something." Clayton replied. He turned to Murphy and jerked his head toward me. He made a showing of moaning and griping about having to get up, but he smiled the whole time. He grabbed a bag and threw it to me, "Open it." Murphy demanded as I looked at it in question.

Unzipping the bag, I found a sketch pad and a pack of drawing pencils. I hadn't felt this overwhelmed since my parents bought me a Wacom Tablet. "Thank you," I whispered.

"No problem, Laurel," Clayton replied, "It was Murph's idea."

I eyed the man who was looking everywhere but at me, "It was just as much your idea as it was mine," he deflected gruffly.

"Well," I began, "Let's break this puppy in," I grinned, my hand rubbing against the thick pages, "Clayton?"

He grinned, "Are you going to draw me like one of your French girls, Laurel?" Clayton joked as he walked to the couch I motioned to and grinned cheekily at me.

"Maybe," I smirked.

He sat down heavily on the couch and I tore into my new pencils, grabbing the 2B and began sketching. I'm not sure how long it had been, but Clayton began to get antsy.

I scowled at him, "Stay still." The words came out as a growl and I erased a line that didn't come out just right. I swept the bits of eraser off the page and flicked my eyes up at Clayton and back to the page, I couldn't get his smile quite right.

Murphy chuckled, "You got told."

I shot a dangerous glare at him, "Shut it, you're next."

Clayton snorted and slapped his knee, "Got told huh?"

Murphy flicked some jerky at him in retaliation. Clayton just looked down at where it landed on him, shrugged and picked it up to eat it.

I huffed and frowned at my drawing, "It's as good as it's gonna get. Your turn Murph."

He made a good show of bitching and groaning as he took Clayton's spot on the couch.

As the minutes drug on, the sound of something hitting something caught my attention. I tried to ignore it as I sketched Murphy's general face shape and began mapping shadows for finishing later. The gentle 'plop, plop, plop' steadily got faster and louder. I sighed before looking up. I arched my brow as Clayton threw piece after piece of jerky at Murphy who was glaring daggers at him.

Clayton's grin was a mile wide as he successfully managed to hit Murphy square on the nose. As he fist-pumped at his victory, Murphy was nothing but a blur.

He had launched himself off the couch and tackled Clayton to the ground, his bulk giving him the advantage for the time being. Murphy proceeded to pelt Clayton with every single piece of jerky he had thrown at him and shoved the rest in his hair, threading the dried meat into the frizzy mess and earning an earnest bought of hand slapping from Clayton.

"Not the hair!"

I snorted and threw the pillows off the bed at them.

/

The mom and pop store we had found, during our search for fuel, still had the mom and pop in it. We found them crawling around, bumping into boxes and scratching at everything in the backroom of the store.

Clayton and Murphy ended them and we liberated the previous owners of what little canned food was left on the shelves, we didn't think they'd mind. I prowled the aisles and growled out obscenities when I found all the toilet paper had been cleaned out. It was _always_ the toilet paper.

Clayton clapped me on the back and handed me some napkins, "Better than nothing," he laughed.

I sighed, "I suppose so. Must be nice to be able to shake and go." I added, a bit of jealously coloring my words. Clayton snorted and walked off holding his side and shaking his head. I just glared at him.

I looked up to find Clayton peering down over the aisle, a sleazy grin on his face, "Penis envy, ay? 

"My professor is rolling over in her grave knowing I would forsake my womanhood so I could have the ease of the shake and go," I replied dryly.

He laughed, "You're forgetting the best part."

"What, being able to spell your name out in the snow?" I asked tartly.

"Well, that is quite a nice perk," he added dreamily, "But no, we don't have to stop to pee."

I narrowed my eyes, "Oh the hell you don't. You two are not peeing out the window ever again!" I scolded in exasperation, "There was piss all down the side of the car!"

Clayton came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, picking me up off the ground. I squealed indecently, "But therein-lies the fun, Laurel. Seeing who can clear the car." He whispered cheekily in my ear, his chest rumbling with laughter.

"You two are just gross." I sneered and wriggled out of his arms.

"Spoilsport," Murphy teased, "Let's get back to the hotel. We all need a goodnights sleep.

When we got back, we dropped our bags, settling in to the stuffy room the best we could. I checked the water. The pipes groaned loudly and reverberated against the wall, causing everything attached to it to shake violently.

Then miracles of miracles, water began to sputter out of the faucet. I might have danced and made some fairly embarrassing noises as I closed the stopper to catch anything that came out.

"We've got water!" I cheered over my shoulder. Clayton smirked and Murphy nodded, his attention focused outside. I sighed a little and Clayton frowned, following my gaze.

"I'm going to clear the area," Murphy muttered and swept out of the room, gun in hand.

So much for the light-hearted mood from earlier, the silence hung thick in the room and I quirked a brow at Clayton.

He turned to face me, a fragile smile on his lips, "Well, what's for dinner?"

So we were going to ignore it, alright.

I turned back to the sink filling with water and watched it for a moment, "Whatever we grabbed from that last store."

We ate in silence and we washed ourselves the best we could with the limited water that was caught in the basin. We settled in for the night, the questions swirling between us, but we continued to ignore them, letting them stew.

I tugged my shoes on, "I'll be right back, alright?"

"Where're you going?" Clayton asked, propping himself up in the bed.

"Just going to get some fresh air," I lied.

He nodded slowly but the frown on his face made me know he wasn't happy about it, "Take your gun, holler if you need help."

"Will do."

I grabbed my little firearm and stepped outside into the sweltering heat of Georgia. My eyes adjusted to the dim light and found what I was looking for.

Clayton was outside walking the length of the walkway on the top floor of the hotel we were holed up in. I watched him carefully from the shadows, noticing the pinched expression he wore and the way his lips moved rapidly.

I furrowed my brow.

His movements became erratic and jerky. The gun in his left hand came up with it and his right hand as he rubbed the sides of his head furiously. He muttered something angrily and stopped pacing, turning around and I thought I had been caught.

But he looked right through me, his eyes distant and his mind far, far away from where it should have been. He suddenly took off down the stairs and out of the parking lot, his pace agonizingly swift.

What the hell was going on?

I slipped back into our room and sat on the side of the bed hunched over and worrying my hands.

"Laurel? Everything alright?"

Uh, no? How does one go about explaining how fucking crazy your friend is becoming? I sucked in a breath, "Yea, everything's fine." I replied tightly.

I crawled onto the bed and nestled down in Clayton's open arms. I chewed furiously on the inside of my cheek, worrying and agonizing.

"Hey Clayton?" I murmured into his chest. His arms tightened around me, "Yea?"

"Where do you think Murphy goes?"

He shifted onto his back and I moved to settle on his shoulder, "I'm not sure," he answered in a whisper, "He's changed."

I nodded, "I know," his arm wrapped around my back and settled his hand on my waist, "I'm worried about him."

"Same."

It was quiet in the hotel room but my mind was a jumbled mess and I struggled to fall asleep. I had been conditioned all my life to sleep with a fan and while I had dealt fine so far without it, right now I missed the soft, steady drone of noise.

"Clayton?"

He hummed in response.

"Could you sing a little?"

He didn't respond but I felt it in his chest, his deep baritone breathily murmuring some foreign melody, probably a song he had wrote for his band. I turned around to get comfortable, my neck resting over his arm. He turned toward me and hugged me against him, the song never breaking in his movement.

I closed my eyes and focused on his voice and slowly, my mind wound down and I drifted off.

It felt like my eyes had just closed when Murphy stormed into the hotel room; his eyes blazed over us and then he began throwing all our supplies into bags. I propped myself up onto my elbow and stared at Clayton before we both stared at Murphy helplessly. We slowly and wearily joined in the packing frenzy.

Murphy's silence felt angry. We said nothing, afraid of making him lash out. Something we'd never been afraid of. Walking on eggshells for Murphy felt as wrong as the dead walking around outside. We followed him down and helped him throw things into the Volvo. I'm sure I wasn't the only one that noticed his eyes were everywhere as we left the parking lot.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Murphy sighed, "Almost outta gas."

I swallowed hard, "We're still over twenty miles from Marietta."

"We barely have ten miles worth left."

The exit for Acworth was coming up in a little over three miles, "Guess we'll have to take our chances," I motioned to the sign.

He nodded and frowned, "I don't like this."

Clayton stirred in the back, knocking his glasses askew as he rubbed his face, "What don't you like, Murph?" His jaw popped when a fierce yawn tore through him.

"Letting our fuel supply get so low. Tying our own hands together with our carelessness." Murphy's eyes were narrowed in rage, he was mad at himself. I placed my hand on the rolling muscles of his arm, making him flinch.

"Don't, Murph. Clayton and I are just as guilty," I implored him. He shifted and his cobalt eyes were suddenly shielded by his shaggy brown hair. His lips a tight line across his unshaven face. He was closing himself off. I could deal with this Murphy.

I sighed and pried his white knuckled hand from the steering wheel and intertwined our fingers together, "You can't always take the blame, Murphy."

"Laurel's right, ya know. She's always right," Clayton echoed, his head propped between the front seats.

A loud sigh resounded throughout the car, "It's easier to be mad at myself than you guys."

Guilt coursed through me, I had thought I was pulling my own weight, but it seemed that Murphy was shouldering the majority of it. I did mend and wash their clothing, _tried _cooking, but that was Clayton's area of expertise. That man could make anything palatable. Which, having to live off the cheap shit he had to as a college student slash drunken musician, it wasn't a surprise.

As crazy as Murphy had gotten, I hadn't realized how much I had depended on him. I wondered if the self-imposed responsibility was taking its toll on him?

My brooding was interrupted when the car slowed and veered off the exit to Acworth. Right off the ramp to the right was a shell station, a few cars sat at the pumps. "We'll check these cars first." Murphy said, his head nodding towards the station.

I nodded and withdrew my hand from his, fishing through the bag at my feet for our handguns. I handed Clayton his and then sat Murphy's on his thigh, his hand curling around the cold steel. My.308 felt familiar and welcome in my hand, but that didn't stop it from shaking. They always did when we had to scavenge. I wasn't used to the uncertainty of the very real possibility that one of may not make it back to the car.

Murphy cleared his throat, "Remember, never leave line of sight, do not shoot unless you have to," he took a deep breath, "and most importantly, constant vigilance."

I wanted to quip a sarcastic comment about how he never stayed in line of sight in game and died all the time. Not to mention the Potter reference that ran through my mind but I quelled the comments rolling around on my tongue, it wasn't the time.

Clayton and I nodded at him before he put the car in park and killed the engine. All three of us slowly and silently crept out of the Volvo, Clayton having grabbed the gas can and siphoning hose.

Murphy and he walked behind me and we cleared the station before we sat to the task of looking for fuel.

"See if there are any supplies we can use in here," Murphy whispered, gesturing to the two rows of shelves in the store.

I nodded and perused them, coming up with little. Someone had been here before us and that thought made my stomach churn. I grabbed the two packets of pop tarts, handful of sunflower seed packets and a bag of Cheetos that had gotten wedged under the shelves.

The other shelf had a beaten up bottle of motor oil on it. Tipped to its side, the liquid inside was eking out onto the dirty metal beneath it. I picked it up, every little bit helped, the Volvo did go through oil, even if it was slowly.

Turning around to leave I stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing in the doorway was a man and not one of the two I came into town with. He stood leering at me, his arms tight across his broad chest and the cruel smirk framed by his facial hair, wide.

"Seems yer boys fergot ta tell us they had a," he licked his lips and took a step toward me, "female friend wit im."

My Ruger was in my pocket, the tiny gun fit in it easily. He was swaggering over to me confidently, his eyes never leaving mine. I stepped back, dropping the items and turned away slightly, concealing my attempt to reach, ever so slowly, into my pocket. I took a steadying breath before wiping the gun out and pulling the trigger.

The shot rang out and the man dropped to his knees slowly, falling forward, the bullet having gone through his forehead. I felt oddly detached, calm. I wondered if this was normal. I had never killed another person before.

A shout and scuffle outside brought me back, just enough for me to scarper behind the service desk and out the back of the station. I crept around slowly and watched as two other men fought to tie Murphy and Clayton up. Murphy was short but stocky and giving them a hell of a time. Clayton was throwing punches, but none of us were prepared for this. We weren't brawlers but they were trying to keep the men busy, trying to keep them from checking on the man inside.

_Trying to keep me safe._

A hit from Murphy's own gun, having been wrested from him, cracked against his head. The sickening sound of it connecting with bone echoed in the silent lot. It sent him sprawling across the pavement in a deadfall. One of the goons crawled over his limp body, fumbling with rope to tie him up.

I swallowed; Clayton's effort doubled, his gun had been lost in the scuffle, and was swinging wildly. He was finally subdued when the first goon finished with Murphy. I looked behind me, making sure nothing was sneaking up to nom on me, then back to my friends.

Both men sneered and took turns kicking viciously into Clayton's side. I had to choke back a sob when blood sprayed out of his mouth. The men turned and ran into the station and would no doubt be out the back sooner rather than later. I ran up the side of the building, stopping to check around the side and then darted to Clayton and Murphy's side.

Clayton was awake but breathing roughly and blood trickled thickly out of his mouth. His face was pinched tightly in pain. I touched his shoulder lightly only to have him flail wildly, his fist catching my chest before I was able to speak, "Shh! It's me! It's me!" I wheezed, recognition lit through his frightened brown eyes, "can you move?" I whispered as I rubbed my breastbone.

He nodded slightly, a grunt escaping his lips. He stood shakily and moved to Murphy, a slight limp to his step. I pivoted around and started working on his ropes, my head whipping back toward the station.

It wasn't that big.

My nerves frazzled and a thick lump of sick had formed in my stomach, rolling and twisting with each breath I took. "Clayton…" but I was cut off when he lurched forward, landing on top of Murphy's prone form. I fell backwards, landing on my butt. I stared up to find one of the two goons grinning down at me.

"Now, now suga'," he drawled, "I wouldn' be doin' tha' if I were you." His dirty wife beater clung to his sweat slicked skin, his jeans hung low on his hips and his hair was a mat of dirt. He wagged his finger at me, 'tsking', as he moved toward me.

He squatted down in front of me, withdrawing a long bowie knife from a sheath on his belt and began to casually spin it between his fingers, "You don' kilt Vern," he said seriously, his brow furrowing and head tilting slightly, "How ya plan on makin' that righ', missy?"

Abject fear kept me from speaking, barely kept me from breathing and I scrambled backwards in a fit of misplaced adrenaline only to run into his partner who grabbed me up off the ground roughly. His hands, large and strong wrenched my arms painfully in their sockets. His breath tickled against my neck and I couldn't help the tremble of disgust that raced up my spine. I sucked in a breath trying to quell the bile boiling at the back of my throat. I kicked at his shins and clawed at the skin I could reach, trying to escape from his grasp.

"Now, now kitten," the man in front of me cooed, "strugglin'll only make it worse."

I didn't have a chance to retort before his fist struck, lightning fast, and connected with my head.

/

I woke to screams. Horrible gut twisting screams that hadn't been in my nightmares. I closed my eyes against the tight burn behind them and my throat. Nausea and horror made me shiver and the movement made me spasm from the pain that rocketed through my body.

I was on the ground. My hands, numb and cold, were bound somewhere above me. My shoulders burned in agony and head throbbed heavily in pain, each beat of my heart feeding pressure to it. My tongue was sandpaper against what felt like a cotton filled mouth.

The screams echoed around the room again.

I shifted off my hip and a jolt ran through my leg as the blood rushed through it and my toes tingled painfully. I looked up again, licking my chapped lips in vain. My wrists were bound together and hooked over an open eyelet high up on the wall.

I grunted, willing my stiff body to just _work_. I clenched my teeth and pulled myself up, having to bite back a whine as my body creaked and popped in explosive agony. I stumbled to my feet and against the wall, enjoying and hating the searing relief in my shoulders and legs as blood rushed back through them.

I sucked in a few shaky breaths and unhooked my bound hands from the eyelet. I brought them up to my face to rub my tears away.

The screams had faded to anguished whimpers.

I turned to the door and made my way to it, tripping over my feet as I tried to coordinate my tingling limbs to move one step at a time and to work the bindings loose from around my wrists.

I leaned heavily against the door jam and fiddled with the rope again. It was tight and chaffed my skin, but I could probably squeeze out of it. I tucked my thumb and bit my lip, wriggling my hand back and forth. It burned and I couldn't help the hiss that escaped my mouth.

I brought the rope to my mouth to hold it and worked on freeing my hand again. I gave one last tug, the rough sisal scraped against the raw skin and I wanted nothing more than to slump to my legs and give up, but I knew it was giving; I just needed a little more time.

The footsteps echoing in the hallway made me stop moving and breathing and I wished I could make my heart stop hammering so loudly in my head. They were getting closer and I limped across the room, looking for anything to use as a weapon. Nothing.

I licked my lips again and steeled myself, the thumping in my ears drowning everything out. Sweat rolled down my temple and I couldn't keep the shakes from plaguing my body. I was terrified.

The door swung open and my heart stuttered out of my chest when it was Murphy that rounded into the room. His face was bruised, cut and bloody, but the relief in his eyes when he found mine was palpable. A sob hitched itself in my throat and I couldn't breathe.

He rushed to me, not even bothering to close the door. His hands were busted and shaking as he took my hands in his and fumbled with the rope around my wrists. "We have to go, now," his voice was gravelly. He looked at me, his cobalt eyes piercing me. He held my face between his hands and spoke lowly, "Breath, Laurel. I've got you."

The sob broke through my throat and I let out a strangled cry. Breathing, finally breathing, I nodded as he finally undid the knot in the rope. My hands trembled fiercely as I rubbed the raw, bleeding skin around my wrists. He reached into his pocket and shoved my .308 into my hands, "Car is out front," he said in a rush, "follow closely."

He was moving forward and out the door and I trailed quickly after him. He held his hand up and turned back to me, "I've gotten rid of everyone, I think, but be careful. Don't get taken by surprise."

I swallowed hard, "Gotten rid of everyone?" I repeated.

"Killed, Laurel," he explained calmly, "They would have done much, much worse to us. To you."

I don't know what scared me more; that he killed multiple people or that his face was a wash of nothingness as he surgically explained what he had done.

"What do you mean?"

His eyes closed, "Clayton," he breathed and with that one word I stopped, "He's gone."

I didn't feel in control of my body. Like I had stepped out and was watching everything in a blurry void. He stepped forward, "Laurel, we have to go, please don't shut down on me now." He took my hand and yanked me forward, leading me through the house.

I followed in a daze and kept moving. Murphy led me through the front door and into the car, apparently having already liberated our supplies plus some and took off.

I closed my eyes.

/

"Laurel?" Murphy was shaking me awake. I sat up groggily and looked at him, "We're running on fumes."

I nodded and looked in the backseat and reeled back when I remembered Clayton was – I choked on a sob – dead.

Murphy grabbed my hand and pulled me over against his side, I leaned my head against his shoulder and he dragged his fingers through my hair.

"I'll take care of you, Laurel. I promise," he whispered, the words fluttered across my cheek.

I shook my head, "Don't make promises you can't keep," I choked out.

He sighed through his nose, the breath cutting across my cheek, "I'll take care of you, Laurel," he murmured, voice full of conviction. "We're gonna have to hike from here, maybe find another car. Come on," he finished with a shrug of his shoulder, "let's go."

I pushed the door open, scanning the surrounding woods and followed Murphy to the back of the car where he was packing two bags. He threw me one, "It has rations for a few days, clothing and other emergency things in case we get separated," he bent over to riffle through another bag and withdrew a small box and threw it to me, "ammo for your gun," he explained.

I bit my lip and looked around again. I was tired, my wrists ached and my head felt so heavy.

Murphy came up beside me and knocked his shoulder against mine, having to steady me as I pitched sideways. I looked up into his somber face, a small, sad smile on his lips, "For Clayton," he whispered and took my hand and led me down the road, towards Atlanta.

/

"How can there not be any cars on a highway?" I asked and kicked a rock, sending it skittering across the broiling asphalt.

He stared ahead of us, "Must have been a pile up or something, only thing I can think of."

We had been walking for what felt like days and hadn't found a single vehicle, not one with fuel anyway. Now the stretch of highway we were on was barren.

"You have the map, Murph?"

He stopped walking and then began vehemently curse, "I can't believe I forgot it!"

I swiped the sweat off my forehead and looked over at him, "Chill, Murphy. I think I can remember enough from obsessively checking it."

He smacked my shoulder, "Don't scare me like that." After a few minutes he spoke again, "Want to take a break?"

I sighed and shrugged, "It'll just take us longer to get to Benning, but sure. Besides, I'm just dying for one of those _yummy_ protein bars we have." We plopped down in the middle of the road, the asphalt feeling more like a stovetop than a road. Taking the wrapper from the bar I wrinkled my nose at the smell. I ripped a piece off, trying to ignore the chalky taste and sucked down some water, "I haven't seen a sign in a while, where do you think we are?"

"No idea," he answered and rubbed his forehead, "probably not far from where we started." He admitted in disappointment.

"It feels like we should be farther."

I was exhausted. We both had to share watches now, not having a third to alternate night offs with and neither of us was getting the sleep we needed.

"I know. I wish we could find a vehicle." He groaned.

"What, so you can try out your mad hotwiring skills?" I joked.

He glared at me, "I'll have you know I can hotwire just fine."

I rolled my eyes, not wanting to bring up the fact that he couldn't figure out how to get our captors cars started. We lulled into daydreams, our eyes and heads heavy with exhaustion. I just happened to look up towards where muffled sounds were coming, they were hypnotically rhythmic. I almost couldn't understand what I was seeing, "Murphy…" I trailed off and he followed my gaze.

Like lightning struck him, he was up and pulling me to my feet shoving my bag at me, "Fucking hell, Laurel, run!" He yelled, pushing me off towards the woods. I looked back at him as he was preparing to run the other way.

"Murphy! What the hell are you doing!?" I cried and grabbed onto his hand.

He struggled with himself and turned to me with pleading eyes, "Protecting you like I promised! Now go!"

"Please don't do this, I need you! I can't survive by myself!" I pleaded, the herd of rotters, who were less than twenty feet away, were picking up in pace, mouths ratcheting up and down in hunger.

He grabbed my face between his hands, "You can take care of yourself, Laurel. I know you can. I promise to come back for you," and then he pressed himself against me and hugged me tight, dropping a kiss to my forehead, "Be safe, please."

I smacked his shoulder weakly, "Don't make promises you can't keep. Please, Murphy, don't do this."

He was watching the herd move closer and the resolve that shot through him hardened, "Go. Now." He shoved me again, taking off across the asphalt and into the tree line, a shot rang through the air and the rotters turned, following after the sound.

I turned blindly and jumped the guardrail, bolting into the forest. I fought against the heaviness of my limbs, making myself run faster, adrenaline the only thing keeping me going. A sob broke through and my breathing was like swallowing glass. My legs ached and felt treacherously leaden.

As I jumped another downed tree, before my feet hit the ground, my world spun, the sky and ground muddled together into some grotesque blend of color. Something had bowled me over.

I landed hard on my side, skidding across the debris strewn ground, my skin catching against rocks and sticks. My breath whooshed out of my lungs forcefully and I laid there sucking in ragged gasps. I couldn't lie there though, I chided myself, I didn't have that type of luxury anymore. I was alone. I didn't have someone to watch my back while I regained my senses. I scrambled to my feet, shaky and stinging from the cuts smattered across my exposed skin. I looked around blearily, my head throbbing dangerously, gun up and panting.

A few feet away from me was a young girl, her eyes wide. Her features were dirty and she was shaking uncontrollably. She was watching me with trepidation, the ragdoll held tightly in her arms just as filthy as she was.

We stayed still for a moment, my mind trying to catch up with what I was seeing. The sounds of twigs snapping, gurgling and the putrid stench of death snapped me out of my daze, reminding myself yet again that no one had the luxury to be distracted in this new world. I lunged past the little girl, shouldering the rotter that was lumbering across the expanse behind her away.

I didn't think, something I seriously needed to do now, before I pulled the trigger of my gun. The shot rang out through the silent woods, echoing ominously in my ears as the rotter dropped to the ground.

The ragged breathing and fierce shivering of the little girl brought my mind back. Her scrawny arms were tight against my waist, the doll crushed between our bodies. I wasn't the best with small kids, but right now, I was running on auto-pilot. I smoothed her hair down and hugged her, murmuring some nonsense to soothe her, while I scanned the woods for more dead.

As my breathing evened out and I was satisfied we were safe for the moment, I looked down at the matted blonde head, "Hey, are you ok?" I croaked, my throat burning in protest.

She peered up at me, her bright blue eyes still wide and fearful and shook her head. What did I expect? Of course she wasn't alright.

Her voice was small and I had to strain my ears to hear her when she spoke a moment later, "'M lost," she whispered wearily, "Mr. Rick told me to run," she looked around, as if she was going to spot the man emerging from the woods, before turning back to me, "he said to keep the sun on my left shoulder, that I'd get back to my momma."

I nodded absently, trying to get my bearings. I came from across the log and she came perpendicular to it when we collided. I turned and frowned, not knowing if we had gotten turned around in our tumble, "Alright, do you remember which way you came from?" I asked. My legs were beginning to feel like jell-o under me.

She took a small step away from me but her hand was fisted in my shirt. She turned, scrutinizing our surroundings. She pointed almost instantly, "From there, I remembering running through those two trees, the ones that look like they're growing together."

"Good, we'll keep going this way ok?" I said, motioning towards the opposite direction of her path, "We need to be quiet and quick, alright?"

She nodded and gripped my hand tightly, the doll doubled over against her chest, the pressure halving the stuffing in the toy. She looked up at me and for the first time since I ran into her, she had something other than pure terror in her eyes. _Hope._

I breathed in and squeezed her hand before walking ahead of her, gun drawn and wary. My thoughts circled themselves before I forcefully decided that I could help her and _then _I could find Murphy.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The rotters were thick in the woods, having heard my gun shot earlier and I had to detour around them, unable to deal with the massive numbers on my own. We stayed quiet and our feet glided nimbly over the ground. The sun was starting to hang low in the sky and the worry clenching around my heart tightened.

I licked my lips and looked back towards the little girl. Well, little was a bit inaccurate. She looked ten, maybe twelve. Too skinny and timid and I wondered how long she would have lasted if I hadn't run into her. We hadn't been walking for a long time before the silence started making me panicky.

A few moments of rolling questions around in my head, I asked the most pertinent, "What happened?"

I looked at her from the corner of my eye. Her brows drew together and looked at me with perplexed eyes, "Whaddya mean?"

"How'd you get lost?" I elaborated.

Her face pinched, "A lot of walkers came through where we were broke down on the highway. I got scared, I didn't wait long enough under the car and it almost got me. I ran into the woods."

"Looks like that same herd of – walkers – scared me and my friend off," I swallowed, "I lost him too."

The girl's eye widened in pity and she frowned, "I'm sorry."

I smiled thinly, "Thank you," I paused, "I never asked you for your name."

She twitched and something akin to shyness and fear crossed her face before she spoke again," Sophia. What's yours?"

I nodded, a small smile on my lips, "That's a pretty name," she beamed, "Mine's Laurel."

She grinned wider, "That's a pretty name too," I squeezed her hand and smiled, thanking her. She told me about her group, the idle chatter both informative and soothing. She described everyone in great detail and I had to smile at how she gushed over the groups other youngling, Carl.

We walked a little further and I quieted her after dusk blanketed the woods. Mosquitos landed and bit up the tender flesh of our arms and legs. I sighed in relief when I seen the faint light that filtered through the trees ahead of us and I knew we had at least made it out of the woods, I just hoped it wasn't far away from Sophia's group.

I kept her behind me, the .308 in my hand as we broke through the tree line. We maybe had twenty minutes before we'd be wandering around in the dark. Up the embankment ahead of us and beyond the guardrail was a whole mess of cars. My heart stuttered in relief and a surge of adrenaline shot through me.

I turned back to Sophia when she tugged at my hand, her eyes bright and scanning the area, she pointed off up the road, "This way, Mr. Dale's RV broke down up here."

I pulled her back a little having clambered up the steep hill to the road in her excitement. She smiled in chagrin at her mistake but I couldn't begrudge her excitement. I motioned for her to crouch down before I walked up the embankment and scanned the area for rotters.

Giving her the all clear she bounded up and over the guardrail, she waited, bouncing on her feet as I climbed over to join her.

I licked my now chapped lips as I let her lead me. The knot that dropped heavily in my stomach clenched as her stride picked up when the large Winnebago came into our line of sight. I stopped her and put my finger to my lips when she looked up to me in confusion, "Just in case, ok?"

She nodded and I began walking towards the RV warily, gun drawn and ears open. All of a sudden someone popped up on the roof, startling me, binoculars in hand. He was waving to us and carrying on to someone who was undoubtedly on the ground below. I breathed out, relieved and I smiled at Sophia, "Looks like they waited for you."

She was bouncing on the balls of her feet and scrambled past me as the silver haired head of a woman came into view. Carol, her mom, ran, weeping towards Sophia and grabbed her into a tight, bone crushing hug.

I kept my word and I breathed easy for the first time since being separated from Murphy, the residual sharpness of pain that flared in my throat had ebbed and I closed my eyes momentarily.

Upon opening them, the world spun and I felt like my body was being sucked in on itself. I knew this feeling all too well. It happened when I was fatigued or gave blood. I was going to fucking pass out.

I staggered over to a car, it was a blue Civic and I idly wondered why that of all things registered in my sluggish mind, and slide down it. My head fell heavily to my knees and I began to breathe heavily and harshly through my nose, trying to push the nausea that welled up in my throat away. I couldn't open my eyes, they being too busy rolling into the back of my head to mind me. I felt someone kneel down beside me, "Laurel?"

_Sophia._

A tentative hand fluttered across my cheek, "Are you ok?"

My tongue felt thick and out of control in my mouth and I'm sure whatever I replied was slurred. I felt myself being lifted and my stomach lurched, muscles useless. My head was spinning dangerously, "Jus' tired." I tried again.

I was settled down against something before I felt a bottle being pushed to my mouth. I drank greedily, not realizing how thirsty I had been. It put the fire out in my throat and a few moments of heavy breathing later, brought me back to my senses. I sat back gently and opened my eyes; an older man –_Dale_ my mind supplied, Sophia, and her mom, were watching me.

Dale's hand darted out and I flinched back but it didn't detour him. He rested it against my forehead, "No fever."

I quirked a brow in question and he shifted to sit down, "Just checking for fever in case you were bit."

I stared at him dumbly, "I didn't know that's what happened," I touched my forehead, feeling the residual warmth from his hand, absentmindedly.

He eyed me, choosing to gloss over my apparent dumbness when it came to the disease, "What happened?" He asked, motioning to me.

"I think it was a combination of fatigue, shock and dehydration. Body was trying to shut down on me."

He nodded and then Sophia's mom was in front of me, her hands wringing and eyes teary, "Thank you, so much." She grabbed me into a hug and my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in shock. I hesitantly wrapped my arms around her.

"I just got lucky that that herd scared me off into the woods too," I murmured and she pulled back and frowned.

"You got caught by the herd too?"

I nodded, "Yea, there wasn't anywhere to hide. There are no cars up the road," I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat, "My friend drew them off to the other side of the woods, away from me." I looked down and picked at what was left of my fingernails. "He told me he would find me," I chewed my lip, "But, I need to look for him."

"How about you rest, let everyone regroup and then we'll talk, alright?" Dale interjected, "Most of our group was out combing the woods for Sophia. There was an accident though," he hesitated and I had the feeling he was trying to decide on how much to tell me, "One of our people should be back shortly to lead us to where everyone else is."

I nodded, my eyes were already heavy. He stood and guided me up and into the RV, laying me down on the bed at the back. He closed the door silently, an audible click of a lock resounding in the small room.

I was too tired to worry and was out within seconds, my body and mind taking me down into the darkness.

/

I woke to the funny sensation of moving. The RV was rocking back and forth, sending my head and stomach sloshing about. I bolted up temporarily disoriented. Breathing in and out I went through the events that had happened today. Highway, Murphy, herd, woods, Sophia, passing out, being helped and then being locked in the bedroom of an old, hot Winnebago.

I tried to stand but promptly fell back on my butt. Undeterred, I began to stretch my stiff muscles out; hissing at the pain in my leg. I looked down and trailed my finger across the torn flesh, puckered and angry against my pale skin. The flop my stomach did at the sight of the gaping wound made me slouch back down on the bed. It needed to be cleaned and, I gulped and shivered, stitched.

I groped for my backpack, pulling it toward me when I caught one of the shoulder straps. I wondered if there was a first aid kit inside.

Unzipping it, I found an extra set of clothing, my sketch book was packed snugly at the back and my pencils at the bottom underneath other survival gear – such as a flashlight, matches, a blanket, a teeny tiny pillow, a small thing of rope and some food and water rations. No kit. I bit my lip fiercely as the RV rocked hard to the side, the jarring sending a trill of pain up my spine.

I smiled sadly when I found a few novels stuffed in the front pocket. Murphy always forgot something important, but at least he made sure I'd never get bored, even if I was dying of infection. I grabbed a book, determined to take my mind off the pain as well as I could for a while. I wasn't sure what was going happen once we met back up with their people and I didn't want to dwell on it.

/

When the RV came to a stop I put my book away and peered out the window. A few people were milling around. In my immediate sight was a young Asian who looked just as Sophia described him, Glenn. He came running towards the Winnebago, coming to halt in front of Dale, who had just stepped down. They were talking and Glenn glanced toward the back of the RV, snapping his head back to Dale when the older man said something.

Glenn nodded and took off sprinting toward the house. Dale glanced back toward the camper once and then rubbed his face tiredly, his bucket hat lifting from his head at the action. He walked out of my line of sight and after a moment, I head the screen door of the RV creak open, muted voices and then heavy steps down the aisle toward the bedroom.

I sat at the edge of the bed, trying to mind my inflamed leg, and fidgeted with the hem of my shorts. The door opened and Dale took a small step in, smiling sadly at me. "Sorry, you're going to have to stay in the RV till Rick is free."

I pursed my lips, "I can understand the hesitation, but I can't stay. I have to look for my friend."

His brow furrowed, the thick hair bristling outwards, "Just, wait, for the night. Let me go talk to Rick."

"Do I have a choice?"

He shook his head slowly, clearly not happy with the position he was in, "Not at the moment, no." He hesitated a moment, "Get some rest, I'll be back as soon as I can."

The door clicked closed and I fell back onto the bed, the throbbing in my leg worsening as my temper flared. It was sweltering in the RV, nighttime having absolutely no pity on me as the heat remained stagnant and clingy.

I peeled my shirt away from my skin, debating on sleeping in just my bra and underwear before scraping the idea. I grabbed a water and health bar from my pack and ate quickly, trying to will away the chalky aftertaste that protein always left behind.

There wasn't enough light left to draw or read or do much of anything else, save for sleeping, so that's what I did.

I tossed and turned, waking when the pain in my leg became unbearable or at the slightest of noises –something I'd always had a problem with. The next time I woke the sun was barely brushing against the low hanging clouds in the sky, painting them a brilliant pink.

I peeked out the window once more, seeing people moving about already, setting up tents and preparing breakfast. I huffed and wondered idly if they had forgotten about me. Then I saw Sophia dart out of her and Carol's tent and towards the RV.

A man, dark hair shaved close to his head and arms crossed tightly across his impressive chest watched her warily. That would be Shane, I recalled from Sophia's description. He strode purposefully after her, his thick, long legs eating up the distance between him and RV quickly.

I waited on baited breath and listened quietly as the camper's door creaked loudly and the pitter-patter of footsteps made it down the aisle. The door was thrown open and in popped Sophia. She left it wide open, Shane quickly making his way toward us. He didn't look very welcoming.

"Laurel!" Sophia launched herself into my arms, "You're awake!"

The force knocked my leg into the side of the bed and I bit back a moan. The flinch on my face was a different story and Shane was suddenly stiffer and more suspicious. I smiled tentatively at her, my eyes darting to her quickly before returning to the man that was now taking up the whole door frame.

He just watched me, his dark eyes scrutinizing my every movement and face openly hostile. I tried not to fidget, but I didn't do well with people staring at me. I tried to focus on the girl that was chattering away next to me, she was talking about Carl and how he was shot, how worried she was.

I tried to smile but I couldn't shake the coldness that had crept into my stomach. I patted her back, "I'm sure he'll be fine," I swallowed thickly, "I think your friend would like to talk with me," I said shakily, looking towards Shane when she quirked her brow in question. I didn't mention his name, I didn't think they'd be all that happy that Sophia had told me so much.

"Oh," she deflated and slid off the bed.

I caught her hand and tugged her back to me, "Hey, we can talk later, ok?"

She nodded timidly and hugged me. I returned it and when she left the room, Shane moved inside, his massive body making the room shrink.

He shut the door and then turned his burning gaze back on me, "I don't know what to think of you." His timbre was low and strong, wary.

I shrugged, "Not much to think of," I shot back wryly.

He shifted his weight slightly, his stance making him look even more intimidating, "I'm just supposed to believe that you ran into Sophia out in the woods and brought her back?"

I eyed him and remember that the little girl in question said he used to be a cop, so he was naturally suspicious, "It's true. My friend and I were caught by the same herd as you guys were. It was up the road a ways though, where there were no cars or anything else to hide in, behind or under. We were chased into the woods and Sophia ran into _me_. Hard."

His eyes narrowed and his arms tensed causing the muscles to roll threateningly under the tan skin, "Friend?"

I nodded, "He drew the rotters away from me, to the opposite side of the woods from where I ran."

He sighed through his nose and was quiet for a long while before he asked about my flinch from earlier, "You bit?"

My brows drew together, why was everyone asking me that? "No." I replied firmly.

"Then what was that all about when Sophia jumped on you?" He snapped.

I stood slowly and turned, bringing my leg up to expose the deep gash on my calf, "One of my souvenirs from running into Sophia," I answered with a little bit of steel to my voice. Weren't you allowed to be clumsy and get hurt anymore?

He stared at the wound long and hard, rubbing his large hands over this buzzed scalp. He muttered something to himself and turned around to open the door. I sat there and watched him storm down and out of the camper. He didn't shut the door behind him.

I stood up slowly, waiting for him to come back and accuse me of trying to escape. After a good two minutes of nothing happening, I decided to make use of the bathroom to clean up a little. The water was stagnant and hot, not at all refreshing. I tried to clean around my wound as best I could in the restrictive space of the camper's bathroom.

I sighed figuring it was as good as it was going to get for now and took a look at myself in the tiny, dirty mirror. My hair was a mess, still filled with leaves and dirt. My face was cut up pretty good on one side and a large bruise had blossomed across my cheek. I touched a sore spot on my head and flinched; my hair was matted in blood against my scalp.

I needed a bath or a good wipe down; I wasn't opposed to either one. I stumbled out of the tiny space and down the aisle of the camper. I hesitated at the door before pushing onward and outward. The heat wasn't as unbearable outside and I took a deep grateful breath as the wind picked up, cooling my overheated body.

When I opened my eyes the whole camp, which was right outside the Winnebago, was starting openly at me. I waved awkwardly and Sophia came bounding forward, tugging on my hand to lead me towards her group. My anxiety around strangers hadn't wavered just because of the apocalypse and I had to fight the urge to turn around and flee.

Sophia made me sit down in front of the small fire where breakfast was being cooked and began chattering away again. It was like she could tell I was nervous and I was thankful for her filling the awkward silence.

"So, you're the one that found Sophia," I jumped at the voice and looked up. Sitting across from me was the young Asian man, "I'm Glenn." He smiled and twitched around a little before extending his hand out. I took it and smiled, "Laurel."

He looked as awkward as I felt and I snorted ruefully. Nice to know some things stayed the same and I was still socially inept. He looked toward a blonde, Andrea my mind supplied, and Sophia tapped my shoulder.

"He's not so good around girls," Sophia whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "Especially pretty ones."

I blinked. Pretty? What I just saw in the bathroom was _not _pretty. I snorted and patted her head, "Thanks."

Sophia opened her mouth to say something but everyone's attention was drawn toward the tall, lanky man walking heavily across the yard. His skin was a sickly, sallow white and his eyes drawn, the smile on his full lips looked out of place.

Shane walked up to him and patted his shoulder roughly, making the man's body rock under the force behind it. The two traded jabs and a tense awkwardness descended between the two, though the smiles they had on their face tried to hide the fact, and they continued to the camp.

The man had bright blue eyes and dark curly hair. I had never been happier to have some insider information on these people, realizing that this was Rick.

He stopped and his hands dropped to his slim hips, "He made it through the night, Hershel says the worst is over."

The mood in the camp immediately lightened and I found that even I was relaxing now that the tension had dissipated. Shane leaned over and whispered something in Rick's ear and his brilliant eyes slid over and met mine.

I swallowed and licked my lips, rubbing my sweaty hands on the filthy denim of my shorts before giving him a small smile. Returning it he waved me over and I stood shakily, the pain radiating up my leg making me step cautiously.

Finally reaching Rick, I stopped in front of him and held out my hand, "I'm Laurel, nice to meet you."

His smile was blinding, teeth white and straight, and he took my hand shaking it heartily, "Rick. Same to you." He shifted, turning towards the farm house, "I'd like to talk with you, if that's alright?"

"Course," I nodded and followed after him.

"Sorry for not being able to meet you last night. Was a little tied up," he smiled apologetically.

I waved him off, "I understand."

We walked up the stairs of the wrap around porch and he sat down in one of the numerous rocking chairs littering it. I took one next to him with a groan, relaxing my sore body into it and propping my leg up on the railing.

Rick laughed lightly and I grinned sheepishly.

"Now, I can't tell you how much we all appreciate you helping Sophia. Especially Carol, that woman is probably going to wait on you hand and foot," he eyed me with mirth and I shifted awkwardly.

"I hope not," I muttered and rubbed my forehead, "I wanted to talk to you about finding my friend."

He chortled and rubbed his brow, his face sagging in fatigue, "We'll talk more about helping your friend later, but for now, I think Hershel should look you over. You look," he squirmed a little, apparently afraid to offend me, I saved him the trouble.

"Like shit?"

He looked at me with a repentant smile on his lips, "You said it, not me."

I snorted, "I already got a good look at myself in the RV."

"I'm going to go in and introduce you to Hershel and check on Carl," he said as he levered himself out of the chair, his joints popping loudly. I debated if I could even get out of the rocker now that I was in it. He turned to me, raised a brow and tilted head.

I whined a little before maneuvering my leg down, trying not to knock it around too much before shoving myself out. I wobbled a little on my feet and Rick's hand shot out to steady me. He was surprisingly strong.

"Alright there?" He asked face growing concerned.

I nodded but he didn't look convinced.

"Let's get you in to see Hershel."

The house itself was homey and comfortable. Like the rest of Hershel's land, it was very much untouched. Rick led me to a door, opened it and stepped in, I followed behind. Inside on the bed was a very pale and fragile looking boy, the red that bloomed around him on the white sheets made the scene look morbidly beautiful. On the other side of the bed was a woman, her hair and eyes as dark as her skin was pale. She looked up at me surprised and looked to Rick, questions burning in her tired eyes.

"Laurel, the one that saved Sophia," he explained. She nodded and looked to me, smiling a crooked smile.

"Lori," she introduced herself. I nodded and turned when a knock resounded through the room. An older man stood in the doorway, his eyes kind and worried as he looked me over.

Rick cleared his throat and turned to meet the man, offering the man his hand, "I can't thank you enough, Hershel."

"Least I could do, Rick," he nodded and looked back to me, "You look dead on your feet."

I looked away and laughed nervously, "Seems to be the growing fad these days." I looked back at him, biting my lip at my poor joke. Hershel's blue eyes were hard and searching, "Why don't you come with me and I'll give you a look over."

"Sure," I answered and once again, I was hobbling after someone else to somewhere unknown.

/

Hershel sat me down in the living room and he took a seat in a wood chair in front of me. He looked me over and checked my head wound before he unceremoniously stuck his finger in my mouth, raising my lip to look at my gums and frowned, "You're anemic."

My brow furrowed, "Always have been. I have a mild form of Thalassemia. Inherited it from my mom, among other things." –_like my migraines._ I rolled my tongue around in my mouth to dislodge the dryness left from his intrusion.

"You need iron." He stated.

"Or a B12 shot," I murmured.

He nodded seriously and looked to be thinking, "I'll see if Maggie or one of Rick's people will make a run to town, get you some supplements," he cleared his throat and eyes refocused on me, "Your head wound isn't serious and most of the cuts are superficial," he stopped and motioned for me to prop my foot up on his leg, "This, however," he said, running his finger along the ragged and torn flesh on my leg, "will need stitches."

I gulped and closed my eyes, "Does it really? Can't I get away with the little butterfly Band-Aids?" I hated how shaky my voice sounded.

He shook his head grimly, "Stitches, it's too large and deep for anything else. It needs to be cleaned as well. Looks like infection is already setting in," he clicked his tongue, "It really should have been taken care of yesterday."

"I didn't even realize it was there until I was locked in the camper," I added honestly.

"Adrenaline, possibly," he guessed, "Take a shower but be mindful of it. Don't get soap in it, but try to clean it out the best you can. Maggie will show you to the bathroom and loan you some clothing."

"You lost me at shower," I answered dreamily at his look of bewilderment at the undoubtedly stupid look on my face.

A small smile touched his lips, "Take it easy on the hot water." He added as he stood and walked out of the room, leaving me on the couch, stunned.

_Hot water._

Minutes later, Hershel's daughter, Maggie came to fetch me. We passed Beth and introductions were made on the fly as Maggie continued down the hall.

She was sweet and much more of a talker than I ever was at her age. I mentally snorted; I couldn't be much older than her and tried to think back to when I began to consider myself _old_. I had a hard time conversing with her and settled for letting her chatter to fill the silence; small talk was not my forte. She left me with some shorts, a wife-beater and some clean under garments.

I relished the shower and made sure to scrub everything, taking care of the gash on my leg. I dressed quickly and looked in the mirror again. The bruise across my cheek was painfully dark against my skin and the semi-permanent circles under my eyes seemed to cling heavier than normal. My eyes were still the same though, green. The only thing inherited from my mom that I loved. My lips were chapped, cracked and painfully raw from all the licking I had been doing to moisten them.

I took a moment to brush out my hair, resting heavily on my good leg against the sink. I hit snag after snag and unfortunately had to tear some of the more unsalvageable knots out. My highlights, having already needed to be redone before the apocalypse, were now to the top of my ears, the natural mousy blonde color that I hated having looked awful against the brightness of the bleached pieces. I braided it quickly, not bothered that it was more crooked than a politician or that tufts of my grown out layers poked out everywhere and made my way downstairs.

The house was quiet save for the muted voice of Rick, Lori and Hershel in Carl's room. I passed it quickly and made my way to the porch. There was rocking chair with my name on it.

I settled down in it quickly and closed my eyes.

/

(A/N: No, I didn't forget Patricia or T-Dog. I just didn't care for either of their characters, they just seemed like filler, there to be there. T-Dog didn't have a major role in the 2nd season anyway, so for all intents and purposes, he died at the CDC. I haven't watched season 2 in a long while so my memories are hazy and parts of season 3 I can't remember. I also haven't watched season 4, so this fic will probably end in some weird conclusion during the prison/governor arc. I will try to be as accurate as possible during the more prominent events of the seasons, the small ones, well, I'll just take some liberty in my writing.)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It felt like mere minutes had passed since I closed my eyes when someone else was shaking my shoulder roughly to wake me. I fought the heaviness of my lids and blearily looked up to the person who was trying to damage my brain. My leg twinged rebelliously, reminding me that I needed to see Hershel soon.

My eyes met his only to find them guarded, squinted against the setting sun and narrowed against my inquisitive stare. He was dirty, more so than the rest of his companions, his sleeveless shirt and tattered jeans were covered in dark blood. His skin and hair were slicked with dirt and sweat. He shifted awkwardly and shoved the plate in his hand at me. I took it from him and watched him stride away from me.

I looked down at the plate; it was loaded down with meat and potatoes. I squinted and made out some greens in there too, maybe some spinach? I dug in without ceremony and the first taste had my eyes rolling back in my head with pleasure. _Squirrel_. It brought back happier times, the memories of me sitting at the kitchen bar and watching my grandpa stirring squirrel dumplings in his old cast iron pot. His round belly bouncing as he laughed at my face when he crossed his eyes and popped his false teeth out of his mouth. I hadn't had squirrel since he died.

I ate it greedily, licking my greasy fingers and polishing off the plate with gusto, relishing having a full belly and happy thoughts for once. I looked down towards the camp that they had sat up around the RV, the fire burning low and mellow. The smoke looked eerie as it billowed and rolled across the ground, hanging tightly to the ankles of those sitting next to the impromptu grill.

I observed the group, most seemed to be close, chatting away and exchanging smiles and laughs. All except for the man, that had brought me dinner, looked comfortable in each other's company. He sat himself away from them, hunched over his plate, chewing mechanically and staring off at the ground.

I recalled the words Sophia had used to describe the Dixon brothers. Cold, mean and violent, though she did say Merle was the one who got into fights and that she had yet to see Daryl start anything physical. It was always his cruelly barbed tongue that he used to defend and deflect.

I scrubbed my hand over my face and shaking my thoughts of brooding, damaged people away from the cobwebs in my head, knocking my leg against the rocker in the process. I groaned and my eyes went rolling back into my head at the blinding pain that rocketed up my body. I bit my lip and looked down at my leg.

It was sliced open good, gaping around an inch wide and deep, though, due to my over-active imagination, it looked much worse than it was. I watched in morbid fascination as a little blood trickled out. The beads of red sluggishly rolled down the irritated, puckered skin and then down into my shoe. I gritted my teeth, trying to talk myself into going in there and just getting it done. I was such a coward when it came to needles.

But it looked like I didn't have to go seek out the good doctor, because he came to me.

I winced and shrank down in the chair, I hadn't quite talked myself into my thin wrap of courage I needed and he merely chuckled, "Don't like needles?"

I shook my head viciously, "No, when I was six, they had to have four nurses and my mom to hold me down for the doctor to give me an IV when I was sick. It took me three years to get all my Hep B boosters. I pass out when I get blood drawn. Need I go on?"

He shook his head disbelievingly and sat down beside me, "Think you'll need someone to hold you down for stitches?" He asked seriously.

I thought about it, "I've never had them, so it'd probably be a good idea," I bit my lip, "I don't tolerate pain inflicted by something I'm scared of very well." I sighed, "I make it worse by overthinking it."

Hershel nodded and stood, "I'll go talk to Rick, see who he can get to volunteer."

"I'll be here when you're ready," I promised weakly. I swallowed the fear building in my chest and pressed my hand against my hammering heart, silently chiding myself for my cowardice

/

A very huffy Daryl came stomping up the porch steps, doing a drive-by-glare as he walked into the house. Of all the people Rick could have got to volunteer, I thought.

Hershel popped his head out of the front door, "Ready, Laurel?"

"Not really," I answered back reluctantly while I stood. I wasn't expecting the sharp pain that shot up my leg when I stepped forward and I hobbled back with a hiss and Hershel came forward to grab my arm to keep me upright.

"Really sore?" He asked, concern laced his voice.

"Yea," I frowned.

"Let's get you in and get it cleaned, I don't want the infection to spread any worse than it already is."

He led me to a room toward the back where Daryl was pacing around, like a caged animal. When we entered he stopped in his tracks and came forward to take me from Hershel, "Just help her to the bed, please."

He held my elbow tightly, his body as far away from me as possible as he steered me towards the bed, "Draw the short straw or something?" I quipped. He merely grunted as he dropped contact with me as if I burned him. I sat down on the bed and turned to my side, gingerly propping my leg up on the bed so Hershel could get to my wound.

Daryl fidgeted around the bed and Hershel settled a chair at the beds edge and sat down in it gracefully. He set to work cleaning the gash, pouring what I was convinced was the whole bottle of rubbing alcohol in it. I hissed and buried my head in the comforter, hands clenched in my hair and nails digging into my scalp.

Daryl scoffed and I managed to pry a hand off and out of my hair to flip him off. I felt immensely satisfied with the intake of choked on air. I just hoped it was the intended target and not Hershel that I offended.

After a few moments of silence I heard the snip of scissors and that's all it took for my stomach to jump into my throat. The edge of hysteria was biting at the corner of my mind and I tried desperately to stave off the panic attack that was creeping up on me.

I always tried to rationalize my fear to myself, that it was stupid to be scared of needles, that the people using them were trying to help, but it never helped. Funny thing was, I had no issue poking myself with a needle.

"Alright, Daryl," I heard the hunter shift and the bed dipped and the box springs creaked under his weight, "hold her legs down. Laurel, you'll have to stay still, alright?"

I breathed shakily, "Will do."

Daryl's hands were rough, hot and unyielding against my skin. Like a vice the pressure was almost bruising and I had to fight the feeling of my mind falling back into memories of the last time I had been in a position of powerlessness.

"Relax my dear, being tense will only make it worse," Hershel's voice was gentle and it was only then I realized my whole body was so ridged it was cramping. I had to concentrate to unwind each body section, "Alright, Laurel," Hershel's soft, grizzled voice began, breaking my concentration in unknotting my muscles.

I stopped him, gritting my teeth as my body seized up again, "Don't tell when you're going to do it, just do it."

I heard him sigh, noticing my tight, shaking muscles and then a white hot searing pain blazed up my leg and spine. I couldn't stop the moan that left my throat. White stars flared behind my tightly shut eyes. My hands twisted into the quilt that was draped over the bed and Daryl's hands tightened on my leg as he shifted his weight over me.

Hershel finished quickly, though it felt like an eternity, and was wiping yet more alcohol over the wound sending more agony ripping through my body, "Don't strain it. It'll be ready to come out in week, two at the latest." It took me a minute for my pain riddled brain to process what he had said. I nodded after a moment.

Daryl was up and off the bed as soon as Hershel was finished. I looked up to see him sneer at me and walk out the door. I rolled my eyes, sending another wave of pain through my already aching head and laid my head back against the comforter with a groan.

Hershel patted my shoulder, "Take some rest. I'll have someone bring you up something to eat."

I nodded mutely as he walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

/

The next time I woke I didn't have to pry my lids apart. I stirred slowly and almost languidly but upon stretching I pulled the stitches in my leg, ruining the laziness of the blissful moment I was having. I rolled my tongue around my mouth and grimaced at the staleness that lingered.

The room was empty and I was surprised to see the sun peeking through the curtains. I had slept through the night and was for the first time since Clayton died, rested. Though, that thought made me think about Murphy and how he was still lost out there.

Having had more than enough rest and enough of the talk about Murphy being put off, I struggled onto my feet the pain still fresh and the feeling of stitches a foreign one, I hobbled out the door. My muscles were a little stiff from sleeping in one position all night but soon my limp evened out to a halting gate and I made it in and out of the bathroom in a few minutes.

When I stepped out onto the porch I was greeted by the sight of… normalness – peaceful and dewy, the grounds beyond the farm were pristine. I knew then and there that this place, tucked away from the harshness of the outside world would lull these people into a false sense of security. And if I wasn't careful, it would get me too.

I stepped heavily off the porch onto my good leg and grabbed the railing as I felt my ankle try to roll under me. After saving myself from further injury, I made my way to the camp. On top of the RV was Glenn, though he looked more ready to curl up and sleep than he was ready to take out a rotter.

Lori and Carol were deftly and quietly working through laundry. Carol washing and Lori wringing and hanging. The smell of eggs and meat wafted towards me and my stomach let loose an angry growl, reminding me, painfully, that I hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

A hand wrapped around my forearm, making me jump a little before looking down and finding Sophia grinning sheepishly at me.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

I closed my eyes and smiled, "No prob, Sophie. Just make some noise next time, ok?" I bumped her with my hip and she giggled and nodded her head.

"Hungry?" Carol interrupted. She was wiping her hands across her jeans and looking at me expectantly, ready to jump at the chance to help.

I nodded and she smiled, grabbing a plate off a makeshift table and scooping off a nice helping of food. I eyed the plate suspiciously and looked back at Carol, brow quirked, "Is there enough food for me to have this much?"

Carol waved me off, "Course there is."

I didn't believe her. I ate an egg and dragged pieces of mystery meat through the yolk before scarfing them down. I left a little under half of my meal untouched and slipped it to Sophia. At her widened eyes and opened mouth, I hushed her protests and told her to eat, that I had had enough.

I pulled myself up the RV, slowly and painfully, before I settled gingerly next to Glenn. He jumped violently when I smacked his knee to wake him. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping watch?" I asked.

He sputtered jerkily, rubbing his eyes furiously, "I am keeping watch!"

I snorted, "The only thing you're keeping watch on is the back of your eyelids."

He shifted awkwardly and pouted prettily. I laughed and hit the bill of his hat, "Go rest, I'll keep watch till you're shift ends, ok?"

He hesitated, "I don't know." The unsaid, _'How can we trust you?' _hung heavily in the air. I looked down and found Sophia still tucking into my meal.

"Send Sophie up to watch me," I replied to his silent query. I missed the days when kind actions weren't called into question. I missed the smiles and the _'thanks, ma'am' _I received when I held a door open or let someone go in front of me at the register. This new world was taking me a long time to adjust to and I was afraid I wouldn't ever get to that comfort level that some of these group members had.

Glenn nodded and levered himself up and out of his lawn chair. He looked long and hard at the rifle in his hand and then hesitantly handed it to me, "Don't make me regret this," he grumbled.

"You won't." I replied simply. I watched the horizon through the binoculars he sat in the chair and he slowly lowered himself off the RV, slipping a few times in his exhaustion before his feet hit the ground heavily.

Sophia never came up to watch me and I smiled to myself.

It was maybe an hour later when Andrea came stomping up the ladder, her hands slapping against the metal in agitation. I craned my neck back to look at her, wondering what her deal was before it suddenly clicked. I turned back to scan the fields. She was glaring at me, upset that Glenn had let me take over his watch. She walked swiftly toward me and snatched the rifle out of my lap, "Up." She demanded.

I stared at her in shock but it quickly morphed to anger, "Just trying to help," I ground out and stood, locking my good knee to keep me from wobbling.

"No one asked for it," she snapped and shooed me away. The dismissal rubbed me the wrong way and sent my blood boiling, but I bit my tongue. Hard.

I shoved the binoculars into her chest, causing her to teeter a little, "Won't offer again." I bit out stiffly with a sneer and left the top of the RV.

/

I was still in a foul mood when Rick and the rest of the men decided to make a showing. My stride was purposeful, both in getting to them and in showing them that the injury wasn't hindering me even though with each step the pain that shot through me showed on my face. I knew, even before I got there, that they could feel the negative energy that was hanging around me like a thunderstorm.

I knew better than to let my emotions lead me. They always got me in trouble and I always regretted it after. I breathed deeply once I reached Rick and let the anger seep away, I had to remember that it wasn't him I was mad at.

"Can I talk to you about looking for my friend?" I asked and I had to cross my arms to keep from fidgeting with my shirt. Digging my nails into my skin helped me redirect my thoughts from the pain radiating up my leg.

He nodded, "Was just about to come get you just for that reason." He waved me on to follow him over to an old blue truck. He threw a folded up piece of paper down, a self-satisfied smile curled its way onto his face as he unfolded the paper, revealing a map that had been gridded.

His hand motioned over the map and to Daryl and Shane, "This is what we've been working on for the past couple of hours," he explained and I couldn't help the jaw aching grin that stretched across my face. "We decided to do break it down into a search grid. We've already looked around these areas," he said as he pointed towards the 'X-ed' out parts around the farm.

Rick scratched his head, mussing the small curls and causing them to stick out, "We don't know what we're really looking for, Laurel, besides that he's a guy. Think you could give us a name or at least a description?"

I nodded, "His name is Murphy. He's got a thick beard, dark blue eyes, brown hair to here," I motioned to where it had grown out to, "he's short, 5'8" or 9", stocky," I looked to Daryl remembering Sophia's awe at his hunting skills, "He's good at hunting, so he knows how to hide and he's good with his weapons."

The hunter rolled his eyes and scoffed.

I snorted and thought back, trying to remember what he was wearing, "I think he had a navy blue shirt and tan cargo pants on."

Rick nodded and Shane was inspecting his finger nails, as if he had better things to do, "Alright," Rick announced and cleared his throat, "We'll start dividing up squares of the grid and begin searching today."

I nodded and looked at the map eagerly, trying to memorize it. I pointed to where the interstate was, at where they had marked where they had broken down and followed it up to the large bend and squinted my eyes in thought, "This is where we were," I said, tapping my finger on a spot about two miles away from the spot that marked the RV. I trailed my finger across to the opposite side to where I ran into Sophia, "He ran off this way."

"We can assume that he came back over the highway," Rick said, "You said he was coming to look for you?"

I nodded and understood his logic, "Assuming he wasn't eaten by rotters, I can agree that he'd have come back across."

Rick frowned momentarily at my morbid comment, "You said he was a good hunter," I nodded, "How good?"

"He's decent, not great at tracking if there isn't an obvious trail but he's amazing at hiding. He can climb a tree like a squirrel," I added with a smile, "Don't let him get the drop on you, he's a scrappy kid and won't hesitate in sticking you in the gut."

"Kid?" Daryl asked clearly taken aback.

I snorted, "He's a year younger than me and was two younger than Clayton. It was a running joke that he was the baby of the group," I shrugged, chest heavy with the mention of Clayton.

Rick shifted, "Was? What happened with Clayton?"

I swallowed and took a shaky breath, "Ran low on fuel about thirty miles outside Atlanta and stopped off in some small town. Got jumped. Murphy didn't tell me everything that happened, all I know is that he killed everyone that captured us and told me they killed Clayton."

"That it?" Shane demanded.

_Oh, now you're interested._

I smiled wryly, "Those two boys had a bad habit of not telling me things they thought might upset me," I shook myself and looked back toward the map, "Alright, where do we begin?"

/

**(A/N: I've made Daryl a little less abrasive in the fact that Laurel proved to them that there are good people out there. Remember this is before the governor and Randall and the terminus, so there isn't much prior bad experiences for the group not to trust her, it's still fairly early into the Apocalypse. **

**Now, I'd assume that Daryl would still be stand-offish but because Laurel sees beyond his insecurities (will see more of this later on in the fic) and treats him like everyone else, whether he gets offended or not. I don't want him to be the novel Daryl of most fanfics, where he's so damaged he can barely function, so I made him a little less asshole-ish and more tolerable. **

**Also, yes, I've omitted quite a few people from the series, like T-Dog, Patricia and Jimmy… they added so little and I'm having a hard enough time making sure everyone gets enough face time with Laurel to make realistic relationships.)**


	5. Chapter 5

(A/N: Bonding fluff between various characters. Not boring, promise.)

Chapter – 5

I didn't get to help look for Murphy.

Matter of fact, I wasn't allowed to do much of anything. Between them fretting over my injury and just plain not trusting me, I was relegated to rest and being watched. I slept one more night inside the house, because Hershel wasn't too keen on strangers loitering in his home, and quickly found that there really wasn't anywhere for me to stay.

Dale was the first to notice and though he had offered me a spot on the floor in the RV, I just couldn't sleep in that hotbox again.

He chewed the inside of his cheek and made a noise in the back of his throat and held his finger up in the air, letting me know to wait as he shuffled back into the camper.

He came back with a sleeping bag tucked under his arm, a grin plastered on his weathered face, "Here you go," he said as he handed it to me.

"Thanks," my fingers ran over the slick fabric, "You sure you can spare this?" I didn't really want to make do with my tiny fleece blanket, but I would if it meant putting someone out.

"Of course," he hesitated, his smile faltering, "It used to be one of ours. He's no longer with us."

I nodded and didn't pry. There wasn't much in the way of shelter outside the RV, tent or house, so I decided to make up a small place to kip on the porch. In the far corner, away from the front door and stairs, I set my sleeping bag and backpack down and strolled back out to the main camp to see if I could help with anything.

I found that the laundry was done, there wasn't any food to prepare and Sophia was hunkered down in Carl's room, trying to keep him from going insane from boredom and reopening his wounds.

Carol and Lori were talking amongst themselves, shooting me not so covert looks. Andrea was atop the RV, binoculars in hand and the rifle lay across her lap. Glenn was digging his shoed toe into the ground, a dejected look on his face.

I sat down next to him, leaning on my good leg as I did, "What's up?"

He slowly turned his face to me, resting his cheek in his hand, "Nothing." He replied blandly.

"Ok then. What's wrong?" I rephrased, settling down into the lawn chair, cringing at the pull of stitches and twinge of pain.

"Women are confusing," he sighed, sinking down into his body heavily.

"I suppose we are," I acknowledged with a nod of my head, "What did my gender do to put you into such a sour mood?"

He eyed me warily and turned his body toward me, "Maggie," he began and screwed up his face in dismay, "I don't know what she wants."

I quirked a brow, "What do you mean?"

He shifted closer and motioned for me to move forward. He licked his lips and he squirmed around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, "She seems to like me, but then she turns all cold and distant. We went out on a run and uh you know," he gave me _that _significant look, "yea. Now she won't even look at me."

I looked at him in slight shock, "You saying she used you?"

He shook his head fiercely, "No! I mean, maybe, I don't know." He ran his hands through his thick hair a few times, tugging it on the last pass, a small self-depreciating smile on his face, "What do you think?"

I shifted, chewing the inside of my cheek in thought, "Maybe it's just the new world," he looked confused, "Not that there's anything right about what she's doing, but she might be scared to get attached to someone? Not with everyone dropping like flies now."

He rolled his lips and looked distracted as he mulled over what I said. He looked at me again, "You sure?"

I shrugged, "No, but it's the only thing I can think of that isn't horrible." His face fell and I patted his shoulder, "Let her come to you. By the looks of it, she doesn't look too impressed that you're talking to me," I grimaced and nodded my head towards the porch where she stood.

I watched his Adams apple bob deeply in his throat as his eyes caught sight of her, "Man," he whined.

I nudged him, "I'm here if you need to talk."

He nodded slowly and picked himself up to walk over to the RV in order to relieve Andrea.

/

It was near dusk when Daryl came striding from the tree line, rabbit, squirrel and pheasant dangling from his hips.

I wasn't expecting him to acknowledge me, much less come stalking towards me, "Girl," he grunted and threw the dead animals at me, "Make yerself useful and clean 'em."

Either me not squealing at the dead varmints bleeding out in my lap or me flipping him off yesterday had gleaned a little bit of respect from the hunter.

"Com'on, jus' 'cause ye've got a bum leg doesn' mean ya can't be helpful," he scowled at me and I nodded at him.

"Wasn't anything for me to do till now," I muttered churlishly, glaring at him as I picked the string of animals up off my lap, "If you want me to clean these things, you're gonna have to teach me."

He shook his head in frustration, "Useless, the lot of ya," he grumbled out as he waved me over to the back of the RV. His hand shot out, palm up, "Giv'em ta me."

I handed over his bounty and he began to string them up, taking perverse glee at the way Lori cringed at the way he manhandled the dead critters. It turned my stomach a little, but I had seen worse. When I was little and in girl scouts, we had picnicked at my grandpa's house and he rolled up not thirty minutes later, hauling a large Styrofoam ice chest out of the back of the truck.

Me being curious and thinking my grandpa was the most awesome person in the world, had bounced over to him with my troop in tow. I was asking him what was inside, thinking it was fish or something, because you know, he was a commercial fisherman.

He just smiled impishly, sat the chest down and popped the lid off. All I remembered were the other girls running away screaming and the blood that painted the inside walls of that chest. He had just taken a buck for butchering, likely did it himself, and brought the head back for mounting. I don't remember the points on it or anything else, just the thick blood coating the sides of that container.

I had seen a lot of things with my grandpa. De-scaling fish, gutting them – that was the normal, everyday routine for him. But that buck head? Most disturbing thing, besides finding that cow that had been struck by lightning in my granny's field, I'd ever seen.

I watched Daryl's steady hands, practiced and fluid as he sliced the thin fur and skin of the squirrel, and finally, yanking and peeling the pelt off its carcass once he'd made all the needed incisions.

"Like tha'," he said, shoving the buck knife in my hand. It was large but I maneuvered it less clumsily than he apparently thought I would.

I eyed the frustrated set of his jaw and the glint of disbelief in his eyes suspiciously, "Trying to set me up for failure?"

"Nah," he deflected, clearly his plans had been foiled, "Jus' surprised ya picked it up so easy." He shifted, seemingly jolted from his stupor and began setting up another skinning area. He took one of the two rabbits he'd killed and began shedding it of its coat. Afterwards, he tossed the smaller knife he'd used in his hand before handing it over after looking at it for a moment, "'Ere, use this."

Exchanging knives made it quicker for the both of us. I did alright, but he had to stop me to correct some of my mistakes, like cutting too deeply into the abdomen, popping a bladder or not cutting the skin from the meat just right. All in all, I think I impressed him.

"Ye've done this b'fore. Haven't ya." He accused, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed.

I shrugged, "I've watched it done before, a long time ago. My grandpa liked to kill things," I answered with a lopsided smile, "Mainly helped clean fish though. Was too little to help with the deer, I'm sure if he had lived long enough I'd had a different upbringing."

Daryl grunted as he began working on the pheasant, hacking the wings off, "Le'me guess. Ya grew up priv'leged." His fingers were covered in feathers now, his thick digits ripping and working over the bird's body quickly.

"Not denying it. I grew up in a middleclass home. Dad worked two jobs, mom worked one. Sister was five years younger than me, went to an all-white school," Daryl's head jerked up at that. I smiled ruefully, "Wasn't my idea." The sour taste in my mouth had never quite left, feeling ashamed for something I had no control over.

"Ya racist or sumthin'?" he asked with a sneer. I found it funny coming from another southerner, but at the same time, exceedingly happy that Daryl didn't fit so tightly in that backwoods "the south will rise again" hick mold.

I grinned wryly at him, "Growing up in Arkansas, you'd think so, but much to my parent's disappointment, I grew up and developed a mind of my own. It took a while, but I never saw color or sexual orientation. To my dad's horror, I became an atheist." I sighed, "Was a hard transition for us. Don't think I'd ever seen my dad so heartbroken then when I refused to sit and watch church with him."

"Can imagine," he agreed quietly as he dragged his blade down the belly of a squirrel, having tossed the pheasant on the table behind us. It'd need to be boiled to remove the rest of the feathers.

"Lots of fights," I murmured and ripped the skin down the carcass of the other rabbit. I held the pelt up and examined it, "Could we use this for anything?"

He nodded, "Will needa find a place ta stretch and scrape'em," he rubbed his semi-clean hand under his jaw, his callouses catching his light beard loudly, "Need ta save tha brains ta tan 'em, but we can make sumthin' outta 'em."

"Sounds like a plan. Always wanted to learn how to tan hides," I grinned down at the rabbit skin in my hands, my fingers running over the silky fur.

He snorted, "It's hard work."

I shrugged, "Everything worth doing usually is."

Daryl's mouth tugged into what I would like to call an almost smile, "Got tha' right, girl."

/

Rick was the next to pull me away, making sure I was being useful. I rolled my eyes and itched at the thought of rubbing my gut crusted hands all over his face.

He looked at me a little sheepishly, "Been meaning to ask. Are you good at anything in particular?"

I pursed my lips together. I never considered myself to be good at anything, I shrugged to myself. It didn't matter if I wasn't the best at it, if I knew how to do it, it was good enough for them, "I can sew, nothing fancy, mind you. I have rudimentary knowledge of woodworking. I can cook decently as long as there isn't a microwave involved," Rick snorted and arched a brow at me questioningly.

I looked at him seriously, "For reasons unknown to me the microwave burns everything I put in it. Every single time."

He looked at me incredulously before choking on his laughter, doubling over in his mirth.

I stood there for a moment before joining him. My dad always used to tease me about my cooking skills, so I was well prepared for Rick's reaction. I remembered when I had worked so hard to show my family that I wasn't a screw up in the kitchen, but it soon became painfully apparent that it just didn't come naturally to me.

"Good thing we don't have electricity anymore then," he wheezed out and patted my shoulder, "Anything else?"

"I can do basic electrical and mechanical work."

"What is basic, exactly?" He asked curiously.

"Um, I know what a grounding wire is and how to change the oil?" I replied, cringing away at his gaping maw, I quickly added, "I can usually just look at something and figure it out and I learn quick from watching, so I can always be taught…" I swallowed thickly and he shook his head, a small smile on his face.

"Can you change a tire?"

I shot him a glare, "My dad wouldn't be much of a mechanic if he hadn't at least made me change a tire or two a few times against my will." This conversation felt oddly familiar to the one I had with Dale.

"I guess we can add skinning and cleaning animals to your resume too," Rick mused as he rubbed his chin.

"Like I said, I pick up a lot by just watching."

"That you do, it's a nice talent to have," he smiled appraisingly and patted my shoulder, "How's your leg?" He asked, eyes trailing down the stitches.

"It feels weird," I mused, "Hurts every now and then." I rolled my tongue around in my mouth, something I'd been meaning to ask popping into my mind, "Why'd you send Daryl in to help Hershel with me?"

His brows scrunched together, "I didn't. He volunteered. Why?"

Now it was my turn to look confused, "Really? He looked like he was in there under threat of death."

Rick bared his teeth in a grimace and looked at me apologetically, "Daryl isn't the easiest of people to read, but if I had to guess, it was twofold," he turned to face me and held up his finger, "Making sure you weren't a threat and," he held up another finger, "to repay you in his own way for helping Sophia."

I rolled my eyes and blew a breath through my lips, "He's worse than Murphy," I whined as I swiped my hand down my face in exasperation.

Rick chuckled lightly, "How do you mean?"

"I mean that they both have mood swings bad enough to put the worst PMSing women to shame," I replied dryly, "Though, Murphy isn't volatile, he sulks and likes to lament that no one loves him." I closed my eyes against the recoiling loathing churning in my stomach from the jibe I just made, "God I'm a horrible friend."

Rick shifted toward me, his hand squeezing my arm, "No you aren't Laurel."

I noticed that Rick was a very touchy feely kinda person and it usually bothered me, but Rick wore everything on his sleeves. There wasn't any hidden agenda and he was very open about what he was asking. I liked his no bullshit personality. It was a breath of fresh air after dealing with Murphy and Clayton for so long. I didn't have to take care of him, I didn't have to mediate his moods or placate him.

His eyes were burning into mine and I took a breath, "I know." I relented, "Just you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead and I suppose speaking ill of the missing is just as bad, if not worse."

His head tilted and he studied me, "He won't be missing much longer. We'll find him."

He didn't have to promise because I knew right then and there, from the conviction filling his voice, that they _would_ find him either way. I would get my closure.

/

I hadn't been added to watch yet and I was getting antsy from not being able to do something. I had always been a little weird about being a guest somewhere. Between my mom and girl scouts, I'd been trained to feel completely awkward and guilty if I didn't do something to help.

I couldn't sleep, my leg was twinging and restless. I couldn't ignore the sensation of needing to move it from my mind so I got up from my sleeping bag and stepped off the porch, intending on joining poor ole' Glenn on watch.

I stumbled in the dark a few times but eventually got to the RV and clambered up the ladder to the top, "Just me Glenn," I whispered as I peeked over the edge.

"Hey," he murmured, "Couldn't sleep?" he asked as I lumbered over to where the lawn chair was set up, sitting a little more gracefully than the last time I was up here.

"Nope," I replied as I settled down, "Thought you could use some company."

He chuckled deep in his throat, "It does get a bit boring."

I could just make out his profile, illuminated from the full moon, "Maggie come around yet?" I asked, brushing away a mosquito from my bare legs. He absently handed over some spray, "Nope," he replied, popping his 'p'.

I frowned, "I hope she does, no one deserves to be toyed with like that." I sprayed my exposed skin and handed the can back to Glenn once I was satisfied.

He shrugged and I turned my head towards the field, "Not gonna let it bother me," he grumbled.

I smiled slightly, "Doesn't matter what you tell yourself, it will bother you. I know," I hesitated, "I don't exactly have the greatest track record with relationships, but I can tell you now that lying to yourself will only make it worse," I added softly.

He shifted in the lawn chair, the subtle squeak of the cheap material sounded too loud in my ear, "You know, before all this happened, I really didn't have too many girlfriends," I heard him swallow, "Was never very good around girls, you know?"

I nodded with a sly smile, "You kinda give yourself away with the fidgeting."

He grimaced, "Yea. What about you?"

I arched a brow, "What about me?"

He ducked his head in embarrassment, "You any good with guys?"

I sighed, "Not really. Though a lot of my issues are from my last relationship and my mom. Nothing like someone telling you, over and over again, how completely unlovable and selfish you are to make you feel undesirable." I rubbed the back of my neck with my hands, letting my head drop forward to my knee, "Never really talked about it before now."

Glenn reached out hesitantly, his hand tentatively patting my shoulder, "Sorry for dragging it up."

I craned my neck up, arching it against my hands, "Nah, you didn't. I need to talk about it. I've let it haunt me for too long. Let it cripple me," I bit my lip, feeling oddly detached from the topic, not long ago the black hole in my chest would try to suck me in, threatening to not let me out, "I honestly thought for the longest time that no one could be genuinely interested in me."

Glenn looked flabbergasted, "Are you serious?"

I laughed dryly, "Seriously. My mom wasn't the nicest of people. I found that out when my dad flaked out on us to get away from her. When she didn't have him to emotionally castrate, she turned on me. I didn't realize how deep words could cut, how messed up it had made me." I swallowed and took a shaky breath, "Anyway, what did you do before all this?"

"Delivered pizza," he replied quickly, apparently thankful for the subject change, neither of us equipped with dealing with such heavy emotions.

"What about college?"

"Business major, you?" He asked.

"Art," I chuckled, "God, I used to joke that I'd have to live in a cardboard box to be able to pay my way through college, now look at me. Living in a sleeping bag on a porch."

He snorted, "We called art students dirty hipsters where I came from."

I wrinkled my nose, "I studied traditional art," I pouted indigently, "Though, the head of the art department did try to get me to change majors, saying I'd never make any money doing studio art."

"What did he try to get you to change to?"

I rolled my tongue around in my mouth like I had tasted something nasty, "Graphic design. He couldn't get it through his thick, ego inflated head that I liked working with my hands, getting dirty and pouring my body into a piece. I didn't want to sit in front of a computer for hours fighting with a computer program in order to draw."

"My folks wanted me to be a doctor," he murmured dejectedly, "Typical Asian parents, huh?"

"My mom was dead set on me becoming an architect," I countered, "I hated the math, measuring and technical crap that came along with it. At least you went into something acceptable."

"Not according to my parents," he added bitterly.

I sighed and shifted to lie on my back, using my arms as a pillow, "Parents." I said in exasperation.

"Parents." He mimed in a similar fashion.

/

Glenn shook me awake when his shift ended. I looked around blearily and watched as Daryl nimbly made it across the top of the RV, making no noise until he plopped down in the lawn chair. I yawned and settled back down, completely comfortable where I was.

I was about to drift off when Daryl's smoky voice broke though the veil of lethargy, "Ya gonna stay up 'ere all nigh'?"

"Thinking bout it," I forced out through my sleep laden throat.

Something hit me in the face and blinked quickly, holding the – I looked at it carefully in the dark, jacket from my face. I eyed it suspiciously, taking a cautious sniff; did it have something nasty on it? "Did you just throw clothing at me?"

"Sure did," he responded without missing a beat, finally elaborating after a few moments of silence, "Use it fer a pillow."

That was oddly chivalrous.

"Thanks," I replied genuinely. I folded up the jacket and settled my head back on it, letting my mind drift back into unconsciousness.

I could have sword I heard a gruff, "Welcome."

/

I somehow found myself in Carl's room who was still bedridden and bored. Sophia had begged me to visit and help entertain. Lori had nodded sweetly in my direction, having heard most of Sophia's request, when I turned to get her permission.

I was teaching them poker and expanding their vocabulary in bounds during accidental spurts of frustration. I'm sure their parents would rather chuck me into a wood-chipper than let me 'entertain' again.

I stared at the pot, a small mountain of odd and ends we were betting with in the middle of the bed, with longing. Carl had just thrown down a _whole_ packet of gum. I tossed a few hair ties to the pile, calling his bluff.

Boy had a mean poker face.

Sophia was chewing on her lips, sliding the cards back and forth in her slender fingers. She growled and slapped the cards down on the comforter, "I fold." She pouted.

A micro-smile tugged at Carl's lips.

He grinned full on then, eyes half-lidded, and reached under his pillow, extracting a candy bar. He looked at it and the slid his eyes over toward me and smugness oozed from his pores as he threw the bar to the pile, "Raise."

Little shit really thought he had a good hand.

Maybe he did.

"Call," I replied smoothly and threw one of my protein bars to the bed.

Carl looked at it in disgust, "Thought when you called you were supposed to put in something _equal_ to the last raise?"

I quirked a brow and huffed indignantly, "Yea well, this is the apocalypse, don't exactly have a whole lot of candy bars floating 'round."

He looked like he wanted to object but I stopped him short with my inherited mom glare. It came in handy sometimes.

"All-in," he suddenly said, pushing another bar and a few bullets to the pot, hoping I'd buy his bluff.

I eyed him suspiciously. If he wanted to play like that, then so be it. I grabbed my lone, bent up and likely disgustingly flat coke can and threw it on top of the pile, "Alright, let's see em."

Carl spread his cards out in front of him, a huge grin on his face, to reveal a straight.

I nodded, impressed and then played with my cards a little, "Show them, Laurel." He demanded impatiently.

"Well," I began as I pulled the cards away from my chest to lay them spread out like a rainbow in front of my legs, "if I recall right, a four of a kind beats a straight."

His face fell and I plucked the gum out of the pile and took a piece before throwing it back to him, "No keepsies, remember?"

"Again!" Sophia cried and slowly pulled her items from the pot, tossing our own unceremoniously toward us.

"Alright, alright," I placated and began to restack the cards to cut and shuffle. I passed out fifteen, five each and straightened the deck before wedging it between my knee and the bed.

The kids were scrutinizing their cards hard and Sophia suddenly plucked a few of her hand out, "Three."

I nodded and took the discarded cards, giving her replacements and adding the unwanted ones on the bottom of the main deck.

I myself looked at my shit hand. Absolutely nothing. I kept the lone Jack for my high card and a nine of clubs in my hand and discarded the rest to draw three new cards. Again, nothing.

Carl was watching me silently, "You have a tell." He said quietly, "A twitch," he explained and touched his finger to the top of his lip where they bowed, "Right here. Just don't know if it's a good or a bad twitch."

I stared at him dumbly, "Really?"

He nodded and then Sophia chimed in, "Yea," and she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes concentration, "Oh." She smiled.

Well shit.

I huffed, "Ya know, what? We're playing for keeps this time round. How many cards?"

"None," he replied lightly and threw a single piece of gum to the middle of the bed.

Sophia's brows furrowed and she fingered her betting 'chips', "Check."

They watched me silently, brown and blue eyes waiting to catch any sign of me giving myself away. So I gave them what they were looking for. I hammed it up.

I jangled my foot on the bed, smiling lip caught between my teeth and kept taking glances at my cards, "Call," I finally said, throwing a shell to the pot.

Carl's eyes narrowed, "Call," and he threw another gum packet to the pile.

"Raise," Sophia grinned and settled a hair clip in the middle of the pot. I bit the edge of my thumb, "All in," I stated confidently and moved my booty to the pile with my shin.

The two kids sat there stunned for a moment before they threw all their goodies in too, "Well, lay em out."  
Sophia had a two of a kind and somehow, Carl had managed to get a royal flush.

I gawked at his hand and threw my cards down, pointing at his cards accusingly, "How in the world!? That's nearly impossible!"

He grinned impishly, "Just that good."

I narrowed my eyes at him, then turned the glare up to the ceiling, shaking my fist, "Curse you poker gods!"

"Again?" He asked cheekily, his winnings gathered around his knees looking like some kind of junkyard king.

I slapped my hand to my face, "I've made a monster."

/

"What do you miss the most?"

I looked up sharply at Lori, having been completely zoned out, hands stilling around a fistful of corn husk, "What?"

She smiled lightly, her brown eyes never leaving the potato she was peeling, "What do you miss from before?"

My head tilted to the side subconsciously, thinking and finally saying, "Noise." Lori looked up, her brows knitted together in confusion and mouth quirked, I quickly added, "More specifically, music. I miss my music the most."

She nodded and I asked, "What about you?"

"The practical," she began, lips pursed, "My dishwasher." Then she smiled brightly, "The impractical" and it suddenly morphed into something mischievous, "My vibrator."

I choked on a laugh after finding her completely dead serious on the matter. Then I looked at her again, my sides aching from joy, to add, "The practical for me would be a washing machine."

She nodded emphatically before replying a not so subtle hint, "No kidding, I can handle hanging cloths out to dry, but my fingers are going to fall off here soon from using that lye and scrub board."

I cringed, remembering that I hadn't offered my services in that regard. I cleared my throat, "How much more do you need to peel?"

Her hands never stilled, "Not much more."

I nodded and felt the awkwardness descend. This is why I didn't have many female friends. I couldn't talk with them like I could men. Women intimidated me.

A string of birds flew at my head and I squawked, more from surprise that I hadn't heard him than the animal carcasses that dangled from my shoulders, "Daryl! You have got to stop doing that!"

I merely heard a grunt and when I looked up all I saw was his retreating back, crossbow slung over his shoulder as he disappeared into the woods again.

I snort of disgust made me look back towards Lori. Her nose was wrinkled and eyes narrowed, "Horrible man."

My brows shot up in surprise, "I know he's a bit abrasive, but he keeps us fed and protected."

Her lip curled as she went back to viscously peeling – correction, hacking potatoes, "No good." She muttered.

And I suddenly realized why I didn't like talking to people in general. Most did nothing but judge based on the surface. Callous and obsessed with appearances. That's what Lori was, airs, hidden agendas and talking behind other peoples back.

She and Rick were total opposites.

I slowly restarted shucking the ears of corn in front of me, "Leave them, get those nasty things off the table," she snapped, pointing at the dead – doves, maybe?

I kept my mouth shut, lips as tight as I could get them to keep from saying something I wouldn't be able to take back and nodded jerkily, hand on the string of birds as I stood.

The hitch in breath caught my ear first, then the sniffing and then the muffled whines. I turned around slowly, dreading what I was about to see. She was crying. Full on fat tears and red nose.

The fuck did I do?

"Lori?" I asked gently.

And she busted out into an all-out keening wail. I flinched back and watched as she fanned her hands in front of her upward tilted face, "S-sorry," she wheezed out.

I was immensely uncomfortable.

"I'm going to go," I murmured, holding the dead birds up again in gesture and turning hesitantly toward the back of the RV. She nodded, her face in her hands now.

I blew a heavy sigh through my mouth and shook my head a little. Must be that time of the month.

/

Carl was aloud out of the house today and taking advantage of that fact, he was already in trouble.

The gun that he had snuck out of the RV was confiscated but the damage had been done and Lori's excuse of Carl's youth was quickly struck down.

The kids needed to be taught how to defend themselves because the adults couldn't always be there.

The first lesson was carried out by Shane, Lori, Carol and Andrea. The four had taken the kids out to a 'shooting range'. Lori and Carol were there mostly to be overbearingly protective.

Glenn and Dale had been left to keep watch. I had been left to my own devices while Daryl and Rick worked through two more grids today.

It was no surprise that I had found myself on top of the RV with Glenn.

He looked absolutely drained. The golden color of his skin looked sickly and his eyes stared across the field before him unseeing. The binoculars were lax in his hand, as was the one on the gun stock.

I eyed him worriedly, "Hey, you alright Glenn?"

The only acknowledgement he gave me was an owlish blink and sharp inhale. His head slowly rolled to the side, eyes falling into my own, "M'fine."

I stared at him incredulously, a small smile of disbelief quirked at my lips, "Are you serious? Cause, I know you aren't."

He shrugged a shoulder at me, "You were so right. Lying to yourself does bad things to you."

I frowned, "You know, I'm about to go fine Maggie and smack her in the head."

He groaned, "Don't."

"Glenn," I began only to be interrupted.

"Don't," he warned.

I nodded, folded my arms across my knees and lowered my head to them. I overstepped. I felt so at ease with most of these people that I kept forgetting that they barely know me and I them. This was a stark reminder.

I left the top of the RV shortly after and busied myself until the rest of the group came home.

Rick came trudging through the west end of the woods, a grin on his face and a bag slung over his shoulder.

It was Murphy's.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Three days since Rick found his bag and there was still no sign of Murphy. Shane had all but said it was a waste of time and resources to keep looking for him, that they were putting themselves in danger for a dead man they didn't know.

Rick stridently stood up for me but I wasn't sure if it was to help me as much as it was to piss Shane off. Daryl merely rolled his eyes at the ex-cop and continued to go out. He was the only one that came back and gave me any kind of hope.

Today he had taken a horse out to check out one of the last grid points on the map. I had thanked him once again and he scoffed, telling me he was doing it on the side while he hunted, not for me. I smiled as I recalled his face when I told him, _"Sure, whatever makes you feel better."_

I tossed another few pieces of kindling on top of the fire as it burned low and turned back to my sketch book, looking at the blank page. I remember my art teacher in high school making us keep drawing journals made out of old books. I hated it but she always told me how daunting it was to start with a clean slate and that the type covered pages helped make it easier.

I scowled remembering how I never kept that journal and though I was her favorite, I barely scraped by that class with a C. The next year she didn't even try and instead kept me busy as her assistant, apparently getting back at me for being lazy the previous year and enjoying my misery when I had to interact with her elementary students.

I shivered and focused back on my sketch pad, tapping my pencil absentmindedly as I tried to tap into my usually endless imagination. Maybe it was the quiet in the camp that was unsettling, though it should be helping. Maggie and Glenn had taken off into town in search of medical supplies. Lori and Carol were off with Rick and Shane, who were teaching the kids how to shoot.

Dale was atop the RV on watch and Andrea was off sulking somewhere, having been reamed by Rick about her general attitude.

Hershel and the rest of his people were milling around in their home, having already taken care of most of the property.

I refocused on the pad, _again_, and chewed on the pencil, biting down hard and enjoying the way my teeth sank down in the wood. I rolled it back and forth between my molars for a few minutes before flipping back to the beginning of the sketchbook, hoping to glean some inspiration from any of my previous works.

I came across some unfinished drawings and then the ones of Clayton and Murphy – I suddenly remembered why I hadn't referred to earlier sketches for inspiration.

I remembered the day, that day when they had given me the sketchpad. I had done this particular sketch of Clayton mid laugh, his smile – something I never thought I could capture accurately – caught my breath and I closed my eyes as pain and longing racked my body. I turned the page before reopening my eyes, taking the pencil from my aching jaw, not having realized I had nearly snapped the tool in half.

Going back to the blank page I just let go, letting my emotional turmoil poor out onto the page. I guess it did give me inspiration, even if it was at the cost of my good mood.

I didn't stop when Andrea stomped past me or when she climbed noisily up the RV. I shook my head at her antics.

I stopped mid stroke in my shading when Dale sat beside me, "How're you, Laurel?" He asked as he took his bucket hat off and swiped the back of his arm across his sweaty brow.

I shrugged and looked up at him, "Pretty good, you?"

"Can't complain," he grinned as he stretched a leg out, a pop ringing through the camp.

We chatted idly about life before the end. When he learned that my dad was an ASE certified master truck technician he cried out in joy and practically dragged me to the front of the RV and began going on and on about plugs and hoses and torque. I just grinned and had to remind him that I knew as much about vehicles as anyone else in the camp and only knew how to change a tire and oil because my dad had forced me against my will to learn.

It didn't detour him, saying that it was in my blood, that I could pick it up easily. Then I had to tell him that he was my step-dad and laughed when I thought that the only thing I'd be likely to learn from my real father was how to leave and not give a damn about anyone but myself.

He frowned and apologized profusely; I merely shook my head and told him not to worry about it. I didn't know my biological father and never felt the need to. My step-dad never left me wanting, always kept my heart filled and was always there for me.

My sperm donor never wanted to see me and even kept me a secret when he remarried and they were expecting. His wife at the time wanted to name their first born Laurel too and he threw a fit about it throughout the pregnancy. It wasn't until after child support caught up with him and the baby was born, that she found out about me.

So I have a half-sister, a year younger than I, named Laurel and a half-brother named Ray. I've met the other Laurel a half dozen times but never met Ray. We look scarily alike from what I could tell from the pictures their grandmother gave me.

Dale and I talked a while longer, the unease gone from our conversation as we drifted back to the one-sided topic of engines. The others had slowly drifted back into camp and it was nearing sunset when Andrea screamed, '_Walkers!'_

It was Rick that told her to wait because he saw something peculiar but she took the shot anyway when we were halfway out to the "walkers". Daryl and his load dropped like a rock and I felt my stomach clench, because when we got to him, I cried out in a painful mix of joy and pain.

He had found Murphy.

/

Rick and Glenn lugged a surly and snappy Daryl into the farmhouse, leaving the downed Murphy in the field with me.

On his arm was a nasty bite, festering and pumping blood onto the ground. I dropped to my knees and scooted next to him. His skin was radiating with heat and his lips were moving in an unheard monologue. I smoothed his dirt and sweat matted hair off his forehead and wrapped my arms around my chest.

I felt a detachedness wash over me and I couldn't hear anything but the buzzing static of nothingness in my ears, like cotton had descended over my brain. Murphy coughed and sputtered out blood, the drops coated his lips thickly and I had to resist the urge to flinch away from him.

He was going to be one of them.

His eyes opened and in their fevered glaze, they rolled over towards me. He didn't recognize me. The emptiness in their once guarded depths pushed me further into the numbness that had wrapped around me.

He reached out toward me and I reached toward the knife that Rick had left me.

The human that was battling the disease coursing through his veins fought to the front, his eyes flickered over me again, but this time there was recognition, "Laurel?" He croaked.

I smiled a grimace and nodded, "Yea."

He smiled back though it was pain filled and another racking cough tore through his shuddering body, "'M gla' I gotta seeya 'fore," he slurred before grimacing. He gritted his teeth as a tremor hit him, "'fore I turned," he whispered out tiredly after his body relaxed.

"Me too," I responded tightly. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to slap him and ask him why he let himself get bit, why he couldn't keep his promise. I wanted to be furious with him.

He wheezed a laugh, like he knew what I was thinking, and brought his violently shaking hand up to his pocket , groping around it before bringing out a folded up piece of paper and sliding it over to me, "Clay'on wan'ed me a give ya tha'," his voice came out like cold molasses, slow and thick. He swallowed thickly, sending his Adams apple dipping deep in his throat, "Godda tell ya wha' happen'd."

"Murphy you don't have to," I pleaded, he was fading fast and he was in pain. I gripped the paper, feeling the hardness between the folds and wondered what was in it.

Murphy shook his head violently and I wondered if he was going into the final throes of the fever, "No, he," he hissed out and breathed deep through his nose. He forced his eyes open, blood shot and glazed, his blue orbs landed on mine, "He made me promise," he forced out through his teeth, the mounding saliva in his mouth seething through the cracks as he tried to enunciate his slurring words.

"Tol' me to promise him," he repeated and his eyes rolled back in his head he closed his lids, "He loved you, ya know?" He sighed heavily like a weight had been lifted.

I stared at him wide eyed. I couldn't feel my hand that was gripped around the knife.

He groaned, "I ha' ta leave 'im," he sobbed, "Those bastards tortur'd 'im," his head rolled around like he was trying shake the images from his mind, "Left 'im with a gun. Fail'd 'im. Made me promise ta take care of ya."

"What?" I choked.

He coughed again and blood sprayed across my face, "Yea. Start'd on Clay first, could'na get ta 'im in time. Fail'd my bes' friend." He choked on another sob and scratched violently at his throat.

I grabbed his hand and pulled it up to my face. It was getting cold, "You didn't fail him Murphy, he knows you didn't."

The words were hollow and empty. They were words of false comfort said to ease the pain of a dying man.

A broken, gurgled laugh bubbled up in his throat, "Didn' I?"

I closed my eyes. The cuticles around his nails were turning purple.

He sucked in a breath, "I know I 'ave no righ' ta ask ya, but Laurel, I don' wanna turn. Don' le' me 'come one of 'em."

Tears fell on my hand and I looked down at the wetness. It was mixed with Murphy's blood, the swirling pink mesmerizing.

His arm jerked in my hand and I looked back to him, "Please," he whispered.

The color in his face had drained.

I nodded and moved the knife to the side of his head. I didn't want the last thing he saw to be me driving a knife into his skull.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth again, "Clay and I both had a pact, ya know?" He swallowed deeply and his breathing grew ragged, "We both lov'd ya bu' we didn' wan' it ta ruin anythin'." He turned his head back to me and opened his eyes again.

They were cloudy.

"Love ya, Lau'el. Pr'mise you'll stay safe." He slurred out before mouthing, "Please," once more.

"I promise. Love you too, Murphy," I whispered, cradling his head as I plunged the knife into the side of his temple.

I promptly turned to the side and threw up.

/

I walked in a haze toward the farmhouse, my hand fisted tightly around the folded paper Murphy had given me.

I stopped just inside the front door, hearing Rick and Shane both arguing with each other, arguing over whether or not Daryl had the group's safety in mind when he brought a bitten person to the farm.

I stormed into the room and the voices died. Rick's bright blue eyes widened at the sight of me and Shane's lips pressed tightly together.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Hershel was fighting with Daryl, trying to get his shirt over his head to clean and stitch up his side.

"Out," I glared at Shane, pointing to the door and then to Rick, "Please." My voice broke and Rick's face crumbled before he nodded. He turned to Shane and jerked his head toward the door.

The ex-cop huffed and stormed out of the room, Rick followed quickly pausing at my shoulder and squeezing it, offering the only sympathy he knew how.

The door shut quietly behind him and I collapsed, sliding down the frame. I sat like that for a moment before I realized I had a very worried Hershel in front of me, fingers snapping and smacking my face lightly.

As I surfaced from the turbulent waves of pain hitting me, my green eyes met his blue, "Welcome back, Laurel." He said softly.

I nodded numbly and dropped my head again, "Up you go," he said with grunt. His hands gripped my arms and surprisingly for an old man, hauled me up with little problem. He guided me to the arm chair in the room before setting back to work on Daryl.

The voices were nothing but a murmuring warmth in the background of the frigid cold that had engulfed my body. It took a moment to realize I was shivering and I couldn't seem breathe deep enough to fill my lungs.

Hershel was back over in front of me and I couldn't hear him. His face came in and out of focus before he was moving me yet again. He settled me on the bed and on my side before he was talking over my shoulder and a hot hand settled over my brow from behind me.

I closed my eyes at the contact and a vicious tremor racked my body. My mouth was moving, whether I was saying something or it was chattering from the cold I wasn't sure. The warm tears that squeezed out of my eyes felt like molten lava as they rolled down my face.

I nearly recoiled at the cold that touched my face, making my eyes fly open. In front of me was Rick a wet rag in his hand and sympathetic eyes. He dipped the towel back into the water in his lap and faint pink tinge swirled in the basin.

Murphy's blood, I remembered idly.

Rick chewed his lip as he lifted my head with his free hand and wiped the rest of my face with the other. He was saying something and looked behind me before he frowned again. He looked down at me and smoothed my hair away from my face, his hands were shockingly hot and my eye fluttered shut without my permission.

The buzzing in my ears subsided but I still felt like I was underwater. The voices around me were close but echoing and unfocused.

I felt the tightness in my lungs build and the painful anger and desolation slamming against my chest was forcefully clearing the numbness. I choked on the sob that caught in my throat and curled in on myself as the suffocating weight of sorrow swept through my entire being.

I had _no one_.

I was, for the first time in my life, truly and utterly alone. The only people that had ever been there for me, to pull me out of my depressions, there for me during my fights with my mom and during some of the darkest days of my life were gone.

And for a moment, I didn't feel like living, didn't feel like I had anything to live for. My parents were more than likely dead. My sister was states away and might as well be dead because I would never see her again.

Then I remembered the promise I made to Murphy and he never made me promise anything. The keening wail, _my_ keening wail that assaulted my ears, shocked me and I curled further into myself. A hand was rubbing small circles on my shoulder and patting me awkwardly every once in a while.

I didn't know what I wanted. I didn't know if I wanted to be touched or if I wanted to crawl under the house and die. It was frustrating and I finally just turned over into whoever was behind me and buried myself in their side.

I didn't feel the person stiffen or the awkward way they draped their arm around me. All I knew was that their presence soothed the pain to a bearable level and I was able to surrender to the darkness.

/

I woke with a terrible headache and the driest, most painful throat I'd ever had, or at least remembered. I was only seven when I had tonsillitis.

I rolled over and came face to face with a very tense Dixon.

I blinked, not ready to deal with him, before turning onto my back and sitting up and settling against the headboard. My hand was still clenched around the packet that Murphy had given me. I opened my fist slowly and hissed at the stiff joints that fought against me. I stared at the paper, now curved at the edges from my continuously clenched fist.

I turned it over in my fingers before slowly catching where two of the edges met and opened it slowly. It was a picture of my twenty-fifth birthday and inside, lying in the middle was the thick gold chain and cross that Clayton always wore.

I picked it up carefully and eyed it. It dangled innocently between my fingers and I remembered with a startling clarity when I asked him why he wore it. None of us were religious and he had told me that it was his mom's, one of the only things he had left of her.

There were no tears as I silently undid the clasp and clipped it around my neck. I palmed it against my chest, its cold metal warming under my skin.

I took a breath and looked at the photo. It had been taken two years before all this shit had happened. We got together once a year for one person's birthday, seeing as not all of us had the funds to travel more than that.

I ran my finger across the Polaroid and sighed, thinking back to what Murphy had told me yesterday. I was in the middle, a garish pirate hat perched atop my head and an even more ridiculous drink in front of me. Clayton sat to my left, his glasses askew and hair frizzed out under the bandana he was wearing. His dark skin was pinked and washed out by the flash of the camera, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes.

Murphy had been right.

I looked at the other side of the photo and caught the same look in his intense eyes. They had both been in love with me and I felt something so painful twist in my chest I had to draw in a breath. I dropped my head back and let hit the headboard with a thump.

It wasn't regret that I hadn't noticed that they had loved me before; it was guilt for not feeling the same way about either of them. They had been the closest thing to family I'd ever had and the notion of ever loving them romantically struck me as the most _wrong _thing I'd ever felt.

I opened my eyes and almost wondered if Daryl had left the room. I looked over to find that he had sat up a little and was watching me warily.

He looked down when my eyes caught his and he cleared his throat, "Ya ok, girl?"

I shrugged, "Have to be." I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the bed, "How's your head?" I asked as I looked back at him. The white gauze around his head was stained a light red.

"'M fine."

"'Course you are," I sighed, "Want something for it?"

He eyed me suspiciously and I rolled my eyes.

"I have headaches, I can spare you a few pain pills to get you over that," I said as I pointed to his head, "I can only imagine the migraine you have right now after being grazed."

"S'nothing," he denied, "Keep yer pills, ya need em fer yerself."

I ignored him and levered myself off the bed and walked out the door and out of the house to the RV. I grabbed my bag, ignoring my sketchbook that had been neatly placed on the bed and then back out and into the house.

When I returned to Daryl's room he was poking at his side. I raised a brow when his hand jerked away from the ragged wound and he tugged his shirt back down. I tossed the bag onto the bed and sat down where I had slept. I unzipped the pack and rooted through the contents, fishing around the bottom for the multiple bottles I had.

Grabbing one I pulled it out and popped the cap off. I plucked the cotton out and my hand stilled as the memory of Murphy going through my bag and sound proofing everything flashed in my head. Snapping out of it, I shook out the contents and pinched two pills between my fingers, sat another two onto my thigh and the rest back into the bottle and threw it back into my bag.

I turned to Daryl and held my hand out and he stared at it like a dumbass. I sighed heavily and grabbed his hand, ignoring his flinch, and dropped the pills in his hand before closing his thick fingers around them.

I grabbed for the bottle of water on the bedside table and tossed it to him. Daryl caught it deftly and popped the pills into his mouth and took a swig of water.

"There, that wasn't so hard was it?" I asked with a smirk, taking the bottle from him and swallowed down the meds I left out for myself.

He glared at me and I turned back to my bag, unzipping the front pouches to fish out one of the books Murphy had packed me. I eyed them, three mysteries and a smut book. Though the thought was hilarious, I decided that I rather liked having my head attached to my body, so I opted to toss one of the mystery novels to Daryl.

"Should keep you from going bonkers in here," I explained when he thumbed through the yellowed pages, "Want anything else?"

"Nah, this'll work," he murmured. His calloused fingers ran over the cover almost reverently and I nodded and stood, ready to leave the confinement of the house.

I paused at the door and turned back to the hunter, "Thanks for bringing him back," I whispered.

He looked up at me and nodded curtly before dropping his gaze back to the book. I smiled, "There are two other mystery novels in the front pocket, if you find that one too boring," I added before slipping out the door.

/

I needed to bury my friend and took the rest of the day to work on a hole. Glenn and Rick both dropped by at different times and offered to pitch in. I accepted, I wasn't too proud to take help, never have been. Being in denial was a different thing. Like when Murphy and Clayton both told me I needed to see a shrink; that I needed professional help with my issues that I bottled up. I had been in denial about that for years and now that I'd come to terms with it, there wasn't a shrink there for me to talk to.

I let the rhythm of constant digging blur my thoughts and numb my feelings. It was always menial tasks that helped me deal with things. Helping my dad in his yard care service, drawing, gardening, ect… this was no different and it felt nice to drift.

The hole was ready by late afternoon and Rick and Glenn offered to carry Murphy to it. I agreed, there was no way I'd be able to drag his ass all the way across the field. I had them set him down, the white sheet fluttered lightly in the wind and I pulled it back.

The gruesome wound at his temple was the first thing I saw and I looked at it in a morbidly detached fashion. I searched his pockets, finding a case of bullets for his old gun that had been lost between the highway and his death. On his right hand was his high school ring, the emerald in it smudged with dirt and the gold tarnished. The engravings where caked with gore and I wiggled it gently off his cold, stiff finger before pocketing it.

I smoothed his hair back once more and looked back toward the hole.

"Ok," I breathed.

Glenn and Rick hoisted his body and dropped him gently into the grave. I sat back on my knees, my hands hugging around my middle as they began shoveling dirt over him.

"You know before this he was in law school." I had no idea where it came from but talking freed up the knot that was sitting heavy in my gut, "Smartest person I'd ever met. Never could take a compliment. I think you'd guys woulda liked him." My voice was disjointed and quiet.

The dirt paused a moment and I looked up at the two that had taken it upon themselves to help me. Rick smiled warmly at me, "I'm sure we would have."

"Definitely," Glenn added.

I nodded, an absent smile on my face, "You know he told me that he loved me before he died?"

The two men shifted awkwardly before they settled their arms on top of the shovel handles.

I didn't notice, "He and Clayton both did," I reached up to the necklace, twisting the cross on it, "Does it make me a horrible person that I never noticed? That I know I could never have reciprocated?"

Rick's shovel made a _'shing'_ noise as he jabbed it in the dirt pile. He came over and dropped to his knees in front of me. He took my shoulders and shook me slightly, making me look at him. His blue eyes searched my face, "No, it doesn't make you a horrible person, Laurel."

And I believed him. There was something, something that I had picked up on days before, about Rick that exuded a kindness and purity that made it impossible for me to think otherwise. I nodded and had to drop his gaze, "Thank you for letting me deal with him."

He squeezed my shoulders and stood, making his way back to Glenn to recommence with the burial.

I would tell them the other stuff later, but for now, I needed to just enjoy the calm washing over me.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I stood at one of the house's old porcelain sinks with a toothbrush, I'm not sure who's, but I'd be sure to throw it out after I got done with it.

I scrubbed at the side of Murphy's old ring, dislodging the grime from the engravings on the side and soon a cardinal, his high school's mascot, emerged. On the other side was music notes, no doubt to symbolize his diddling about in his clichéd garage band when it was cool and edgy. Around the emerald was the name of the high school, North Laurel, as ironic as that was.

I slipped it over my index finger and the heavy stone made it turn and flop loosely on my finger. I sat it in the soap dish and undid the clasp of my necklace. I dropped the ring on the chain before snapping it back around my neck.

The weight settled comfortably against my chest. A feeling of completeness washed over me and I smiled and breathed easier than I had since Clayton died. I eyed the toothbrush, now filthy and the bristles frayed, and felt a little guilty. I tucked it into my pocket to make sure it wouldn't get used again.

I would replace it and no one would be the wiser.

Walking out the house I jogged, the ring and cross thumping heavily against my breastbone, towards Rick and he smiled when he saw me.

"Hey Rick," I breathed and smiled back, settling my hands on my hips when I stopped in front of him.

"Hey yourself, what can I do for you?" He leaned against the old blue truck and shoved his hands in his front pockets.

"Was wondering if I could run into town?" I asked.

His smile faltered a little and he leaned forward, arms folding across his chest, "Why?"

I looked at him a little sheepishly before pulling the toothbrush out, "Because of this."

He grimaced, "I don't even want to know," he looked around and then leaned in closer. I could feel his breath against my cheek, "Don't let Shane see that."

I blanched, "It's Shane's?"

He nodded grimly, "I'll go with you. I've been meaning to pick up a few things for Hershel."

I beamed at him, "Thanks, nice to know I won't have to sleep with one eye open," I shivered, "I do not want Shane pissed at me."

"Why don't you want me pissed at you?"

I squeaked, shoved the soiled toothbrush in my pocket and whirled around. Speak of the devil and he appears. "Nothing, nothing at all!" I stuttered out before taking off toward the camper, but not before I heard the deep throated chuckle of Rick and Shane telling him that I was one weird chick.

Rick came calling a half an hour later, telling me to suit up and met him at the jeep.

I grabbed my .308 from Dale and one of the numerous knives the group had collected over their travels before heading out for the vehicles. Rick jumped into the Jeep upon seeing me and started it up. I ran around the passenger side and slung myself inside.

"Ready?" He asked.

I nodded, "Yep."

He gave me a lopsided grin, "Good."

He rolled the windows down and started down the long dusty driveway to a small road. He drove at a good pace and I watched as he settled down into country cop mode. He was leaned back in his seat with his elbow hanging out the widow and hand at the top of the steering wheel. His aviator's gleaming brightly in the sun.

I breathed a laugh and he turned toward me. All I saw was my reflection in his glasses and the thick brow arched above them. I snorted loudly, "God you're such a cop."

"'Course I am." He replied back smartly.

"What did you need to pick up for Hershel?" I asked, trying for some small talk.

"Some vitamins, B12 and iron," he answered, brows furrowed as he tried to recall the medicine.

"Ah, that would be for me," I said. He quirked that brow at me again, his full lips pulled down into a little frown. "It's just for my anemia, I have a hereditary condition. It's mild, no big deal," I explained and waved off his concerned stare.

He eventually nodded, lips thinned and silence descended.

"Thank you for helping with Murphy," I trailed off, "And when I went into shock," I added quietly.

His face softened, "You don't have to thank me but you're welcome."

I squirmed and opened my mouth a few times before scraping enough courage together to ask, "If I ever needed to talk to you, would you listen? Keep it between us?"

"Yea, what about?" He asked. He slipped in cop mode, all business like and serious.

I shifted in my seat and picked at my fingernails, "Just some things I want to get off my chest. My friends used to tell me I needed to see a shrink, but I can't do that now. I figured, you're a good listener and I can trust you," I looked at him. His smile had grown wide, apparently quite proud about that fact. I chuckled, "It's not stuff I want to talk about right now though. Not going into a situation that we need to have our heads screwed on straight," I finished quickly.

His hands shifted, his far one taking over steering and the other slide off the wheel to grasped my shoulder, squeezing it, "I'd be honored, Laurel," he paused and glanced at me, looking over his glasses as he did so he could look me in the eye, "I won't push you. Come to me whenever you want and I promise it'll stay between us, alright?"

I smiled brightly at him and grabbed his hand, which was still on my shoulder, and squeezed it, "Thank you."

/

Rick parked behind a store, two large trash bins blocked the jeep from view of the main road and we slipped through the backdoor of a drugstore.

Rick entered first, his python gleaming and heavy in his hands. I followed in closely and let the door shut silently. I drew out a light and kept it low to keep from attracting unwanted attention, the way Murphy had shown me. I kept the .308 tight in my hand, finger on the trigger and slowly crept along the stores backroom inventory. Rick stopped every once in a while, holding his finger up to his lips and listening.

It was absolutely quiet save for our fluttering heartbeats and breaths.

Rick stopped and waved me to his side, he bent down to whisper in my ear, "Glenn and Maggie cleaned out the front, we'll need to check back here for the things we need," I nodded, "Stay close, we haven't cleared this area yet."

I walked closely and he stopped at a stack of boxes, "Check 'em, I'll watch your back."

"Alright," I whispered. I rooted through the boxes and came up with a carton of iodine, cotton balls and few bags of syringes. I smiled ruefully at the needles; if I could only find me some B12. I motioned for Rick to move down a ways. It took a good thirty minutes before finding a box full of toothbrushes.

I picked up another box and flipped the flaps back. I nodded in satisfaction at my find; multi-vitamins, with and without iron. Not only would they work if I couldn't find iron tabs or B12 for myself, but they were also beneficial for everyone. I shoved a couple flats into the duffle bag at my feet.

I grinned ruefully at the package of toothbrushes as I shoved them aside to make room for the multi's, least my ass was saved from the wrath of Shane. I stood up straight and peered around the room and rubbed my neck. If I was a vial of B12, where would I be?

The boxes on the shelves and floor weren't in any sensible order and I sighed, "How much longer do we want to stay in here," I questioned.

He glanced down at the beat up watch, on loan from Dale, on his wrist, "Not much longer, will be getting dark soon."

I nodded and elbowed his arm after noticing half-a-dozen boxes on top of a shelf. He nodded and moved past me, reaching up while I took guard. He took all six down and let me rifle through them. Most were things that we had in spades but in the fourth box, I found a flat of B12 and let out a triumphant noise. I stuffed it down in the duffle bag, shouldered it and turned to Rick, "Got everything, lets hit the road."

We backtracked silently and Rick exited the building and I walked out backwards, letting the door shut quietly yet again. I threw the bag in the back seat and Rick started the engine up, "Not used to things going that smoothly," he muttered, his keen eyes scanning the area as we passed out of the town.

"I know," I murmured back, "Calm before the storm."

He nodded grimly.

"What did you do before this life?" He asked

I laughed softly, "Nothing that would have prepared me for this. I was an illustrator." I replied with wryness, "Before that I worked with my dad in his lawn care service."

"What about for fun?" he pried.

I shrugged, "I wasn't very social, never understood the point of parties. I found more pleasure curling up and getting lost in a book," I thought about it further, "I liked to write and I played computer games a lot," I sighed, "I was boring."

"I don't think so," Rick cut in, "I worked so much I barely got to see my wife and kid. The force was my first love, Lori always said," he said with a wry bitterness.

I nodded, "My dad was like that. He always worked himself to the bone. He worked second shift for twenty years and mowed yards during the first before he got rheumatoid arthritis so bad in his hands and knees he just couldn't do it anymore. He barely got six hours of sleep a night and I could never understand why he'd do that to himself. It wasn't till I grew up and learned how far in debt he and my mom were," a breathy chuckle left me, "I didn't realize that it wasn't just debt that kept him away." I stopped realizing that I was close to letting loose the secrets that I kept buried. Not because I was ashamed to talk about them, but because it _hurt_ to remember.

Rick shifted direction and asked, "How old are you?"

It blindsided me but the anxiety immediately melted away, "Twenty-seven, why?" Rick's ability to read situations and people astounded me.

He shrugged, "You just seem younger. Don't know why."

I snorted, previous mood forgotten, "You know, when I was in my teens, I was always mistaken for someone in their twenties. Now that I'm in my twenties, I'm always mistaken for someone in my teens. It's weird."

"I'd think it'd been a compliment," he grinned roguishly at me.

"You'd think," I replied dryly, "You have no idea how much of a pain in the ass it was to be carded all the time when I was buying booze for my mom. Always went into the same damn store, not like they didn't know me. I swear they did it because it pissed me off."

Rick laughed, "A woman complaining about being carded. Now I've heard everything."

I glared good naturedly at him, "I think I'm also the only woman that hated shopping. _Now_ you've heard everything and can die in peace."

Rick choked and looked at me like I had grown another head, "Seriously?"

I looked at him straight faced, "Seriously."

He rubbed his brow, "You sure you're female?"

I cocked my head to the side and furrowed my brow, "Last I looked, I was," he looked at me doubtfully, "What, wanna check to make sure?"

He coughed loudly and looked at me with wide eyes, cheeks tinged red.

I burst out laughing and held my sides, "Oh my god, your face. I couldn't resist low, I'm sorry!"

He chuckled lightly and cleared his throat, "Now I know you're a woman. Teasing me like that."

I grinned cheekily, "'Course." I rubbed my forehead, "Don't worry; I can't flirt worth a crap unless it's taking a jab and embarrassing the person I'm aiming it at."

He shifted and grinned ruefully, "That is not comforting."

I clicked my tongue, "I'm warning you now, my banter isn't the cleanest. I had two guys as best friends. Remember that," I added dryly, "Once you get to know me and learn not to take me seriously, it'll roll off ya. Don't worry. 'Sides, you're married and I don't chase married men, no matter if the world's gone to shit."

He snorted, "You'll get along with Glenn, once you get past his awkward exterior he's the exact same."

I smiled and gazed out the window. I could almost imagine Murphy sitting in the driver's seat and if I turned around, I'd find Clayton sprawled out asleep, "I've missed this," I said absently.

"What?" Rick asked, blue eyes flickering toward me behind his aviators.

"The easy banter," I gestured between the two of us, "I had it with Clayton and Murphy. We just flowed seamlessly together, the three of us. Without them, I feel lost – drifting." I struggled after a moment, "I miss them, a lot. I feel out of place in your group."

Rick sought out my shoulder again to give it a squeeze. He smiled at me understandingly, "It'll take time. We were all like you at one point in time, believe it or not. We've all lost people, some more than others. Glenn is completely alone, his folks are in Michigan. They were estranged before this all happened. Andrea watched her sister get bit. She died and turned in her arms and she had to put her down. That's why she's the way she is," I cocked a brow at him and he quickly added, "It's no excuse for her earlier behavior around you but it explains _some_ of her actions."

I nodded, "My family was in Arkansas when the outbreak hit. I was in North Carolina. My sister was in Minnesota. I seriously doubt I'll see any of them again." I sighed, "I've never been good with people, never had much self-confidence and that's why I clung to Murphy and Clayton so much. I didn't have anyone else."

"You have us now," Rick said seriously, "Daryl and Andrea will take longer than the others to warm up to you," he faltered before shaking his head, a lopsided grin on his face, "Well, Daryl is a special case, he still hasn't really warmed up to anybody, but he's a good man." And then he sighed in exasperation, "Though he doesn't believe it."

"And Shane?" I ventured.

Rick's face closed off, "He's not himself anymore."

I nodded and the car slowed down as Hershel's dirt drive came into view. He turned onto it and I watched as Rick brooded.

I touched his shoulder, frowning, "Hey, sorry if I said something wrong."

I shook his head, "Nah, just thinking. I don't know what to do with him anymore."

"Have you tried talking to him?"

He nodded and breathed heavily out his nose, "He doesn't think I know. Lori doesn't either. Both of them seem to forget I read people for a living."

I turned toward him as he stopped the car right before the clearing, the trees blocking the car, "Know what?"

Rick turned to me and I saw the pain that suffocated him, that he carried in silence and what the others believed to be ignorance, "They've been sleeping together. Not since I found them outside of Atlanta," he amended, "But it's the fact she hasn't told me yet. That they both feel the need to keep it a secret."

I opened my mouth a little. I wasn't sure what to say because it was hitting a little close to home; something else that I had buried deep and didn't want to think about. I swallowed, "Have you talked to her about it?"

He ran his hand across his face, "That's the thing, she gets defensive whenever I bring anything up about Shane. That was the big tip off there. That and the goo-goo eyes he makes at her whenever he thinks I'm not looking."

I fidgeted, "Ever considered to just let them have each other?"

He sighed, "I have."

"What's keeping you from walking away?"

"She's pregnant."

/

When we pulled back in front of the farmhouse, we were greeted by the rag-tag group of survivors. Lori was clinging to Carl, a hand fisted at her hip as she eyed the vehicle. I looked over at Rick and gave him a smile, "If you ever need to talk, don't hesitate. It works both ways you know?"

He nodded, eyes trained on the train wreck that was his family, "Thanks, you're easy to talk to." He mumbled and looked over at me suspiciously, like I had doped him with truth serum.

I grinned maniacally and his eyes widened minutely and hand twitched, "Don't worry, I attract all the crazies. I'm used to it."

He shook his head, his smile cracked over his face and opened the door, stepping out laughing. Lori's eyes narrowed and Shane's brows were knitted. I hoped down from the jeep and opened the back door to grab the duffle. I walked to the front and dropped the bag next to the tire and began rooting through it, looking for the flat of B12, a syringe, cotton ball and iodine. I stood with my bounty and laid them out on top of the hot car hood.

After tearing into the flat, I shook one of the B12 vials and eyed the liquid in it carefully. It _looked_ fine, but it had been sitting in a sweltering backroom for almost three months. I bit my lip; the fatigue and constant ache behind my eyes were things that had become normal. I was terrible about taking medicines regularly, much to my herbal junkie dad's ire, and had been undiagnosed with thalassemia until I had been sent to the oncologist for a high white blood cell count.

I cringed at the memory, which had been super fun, especially when the doctor wanted to take a marrow sample from my breastbone. I snarled, fucker said it wouldn't hurt and to stop being a baby. I just looked at him like he had been stupid or something. I had seen the needle and I had seen marrow taken from someone during a donation. It. Was. Painful.

He kept prodding, saying he needed it, that he wouldn't be able to tell me what was making my blood count so high till he did. I just shrugged it off and stopped going, especially during a visit with a stand in oncologist. He told me it was just leukocytosis, just a fancy word for 'we have no fucking clue, but its benign'. After a few missed visits, the original doctor, acting like a jilted boyfriend he sent me a letter saying that if I didn't come back, he wouldn't treat me ever again. Jerk. Hope he got eaten.

I moved on and didn't think anything of my blood count. That is till my dad started shoving herbal supplements down my throat to 'cure' me. I looked back down at the vial in my hand and turned it over with my fingers. I sighed and supposed it would be nice not to feel tired all the time.

I took a syringe, ripped the hygienic wrapper from it and poked the tip into the rubber stopper of the vial. I turned it over and pulled the plunger and the contents inside the vial, down.

Discarding the vial, I tapped the syringe, sending whatever air trapped inside to the top in little bubbles and I pushed on the plunger to expel it. I clenched it between my teeth and rip off the protective seal on the iodine before holding a cotton ball up to the opening and upturning the bottle onto it. I lifted my shirt and rubbed the iodine laden ball onto my skin before I took the needle and swiped the ball across the tip and plunged it into my gut. I wouldn't feel any difference till I had a few shots.

I looked up, having forgot that I had just done that in front of everyone, to see them all looking at me curiously. Hershel was grinning like a shit eating possum and Daryl looked like he was chewing nails.

"Scared of needles my ass!" He bellowed.

I blinked before looking between the irate hunter and Hershel, "I _am_ scared of needles that _I'm _not in control of." I shrugged. I looked back to Daryl and grinned devilishly at him, "Come now, dear, you know you liked holding me down on the bed."

His face closed up, colored then drained. Carol was looking at me like I had just clubbed a baby seal and Sophia was just looking back and forth between everyone, giving herself whiplash. Daryl jerked around before he turned tail, crossbow over his shoulder and strode across the yard and into the woods.

I huffed before turning back to the duffle, ignoring the gob-smacked face of Glenn, and withdrew the box of toothbrushes. I ripped into it and grabbed a package before saying, "Hey Shane, catch," and tossed the toothbrush towards the burly man.

He caught it and looked at it in confusion, "That's to replace the one I used to clean walker guts out of my ring." I elaborated and snuck a glance at him.

His face turned a lovely shade of purple.

I cringed and Rick came up beside him, thumping him hard on the back, "At least she replaced it," he added cheekily.

He glared at me a little longer before turning and stomping off, grumbling something about dumbass blondes. He received a nice smack to the back of the head from Andrea and I couldn't help the smile that curled across my face.

I stood and cleared my throat, "Anyone else need a toothbrush?" I asked, holding up the box full of new merchandise like a sleazy hawker.

/

I retired to the sleeping bag that Dale had eventually given me, once he knew all I had was a thin blanket. I took the porch stairs two at a time and strode down the aged wood to my 'camp'. I sat heavily on the bag and laid down, my back aching pleasantly from the rigidness of the wood.

I sighed through my nose. Daryl was a sensitive like Murphy had been. Though, Murph wasn't touchy in the same areas. I needed to apologize to Daryl and I would when I saw him next. But right now, my eyes were heavy and the warmth of the day sank deep into my muscles, relaxing me and making me aware of how bone weary I really was.

I settled against my bedding, nesting like a squirrel and stared lazily up into the sky. It was going to rain soon. The clouds were thick and the dampness in the air clung to everything. I had always loved the rain. I took a deep breath, enjoying the cloying earthiness of the air before closing my eyes.

A few hours later I bolted out of sleep because the slow and steady rain had picked up and drenched me. I shivered and jumped up to move the bag against the wall of the porch and slipped my legs inside it to take the chill out of my body. I sloughed water off my arms, face and hair, flicking it away from me.

I plucked my shirt off my skin and curled my lip in discomfort. I hated wet clothes. I stood to ring my shirt out the best I could. During this time, someone cleared their throat and I startled but before I could turn around to see who had snuck up on me, a towel smacked me in the face.

"Dry off, girl, 'fore ya get sick."

Gripping the towel in my hands I finally looked, surprised to find Daryl in one of the rocking chairs, watching me silently. I toweled off my legs and arms before going after my hair; moving all the while to sit in the rocker next to Daryl.

"Thanks," I said, motioning towards the towel.

He grunted, "Don't need ya gettin' sick. Ya'd be even more useless than ya are now."

Ouch. "I know," I replied quietly, "I'm sorry about earlier."

"Don't sweat it." He dismissed the apology and I sighed. We were silent for a while longer when he spoke up again, "What was it ya was injectin' inta yerself earlier?"

"Vitamin. Hershel said I needed it," I answered, "For anemia," I elaborated at his piercing gaze.

He nodded, "Looked like ya've done that before."

"I used to do it twice a month, when I remembered." I added with a dispassionate sigh, "One of the wonderful things I inherited from my mom."

His brow arched, "Don't like yer mom?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, "Love, hate relationship, but I find myself resenting her more often than not. It's hard not to," I finished softly.

He grunted, "Can understand that."

He let the conversation drop and we sat and watched the rain together, embroiled in some weird, silent connection.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"I noticed you don't hang around the women very much," Shane mentioned offhandedly, the cloth in his hands running over his handgun once more than necessary.

I shrugged, "Never had many female friends. Just get along with guys better."

Shane paused and leaned back in the lawn chair he was in, "You know, it's making people wonder."

My hands stilled shelling the peas in front of me, my heart suddenly squeezing, "What do you mean." But I knew what he meant.

His grin grew slowly, lazily over his face, like he had some juicy secret, "Oh, just that you and Rick seem to be real buddy-buddy now. It's making the others chit-chat."

I blew my hair out of my eyes and stared at him steadily, "You hens can gossip all you want. None of you know anything about me."

He leaned forward, his hands, still holding the gun and cloth, dangling between his legs, "You see, that's just it. We don't know you."

My eyes narrowed, "Your point?"

"For all we know you're some home-wrecking whore," he stated matter-of-factly.

I blinked, the words stinging deep and agitating the scab that held back things I refused to think about, "I don't think I've ever had anyone call me that before." I whispered numbly.

He smiled maliciously, "I see you're not denying it," he stood up and his knees brushed the basket of purple hull peas, "Well, now you've heard it. Lori wanted me to tell you to stay away from her family," he tilted his head at me and I stared back at him dumbly, "Carol wants you to stay away from Sophia too, especially after that little incident with Daryl," I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat, "Nice chatting with ya."

I dropped my eyes back down, staring at my stained fingers, feeling numb and detached. I wanted to feel the stirrings of indignation, the swell of anger but I couldn't quite touch it through the haze yet. I reflected inwardly, trying to grasp at the logic behind Shane's cruel words. I could see it, most married men weren't allowed to have female friends and no one believed men and women could just be friends.

Maybe they're right. I rubbed the dampness from my eyes as Murphy's confession echoed in my head. Both of my friends had fallen in love with me.

But Sophia? Couldn't Carol tell I was just joking? I suppose I should consider it a kind of a slap in the face, to remind me that I wasn't meant to be around kids. I didn't know how to mediate my mouth and always said the wrong thing.

No matter how much I tried to quash the feeling, the unfairness and anger was building as the minutes passed by, my thoughts chasing each other in a tight circle. I didn't have ulterior motives. I was just trying to find a place in the group. My hands were shaking now, clammy and heat was flashing through my body. I wanted to go up to Lori and yell at her and cut her hypocritical ass down to size till I was blue in the face. I wanted to demand Carol tell me what exactly I did that was so reprehensible that I couldn't talk to Sophia. I twitched and I knew the more I brooded, the more likely I was going to do something stupid.

I stood from the chair stiffly and fisted my hands. I set my jaw painfully and walked toward Dale, who was fiddling under the hood of the RV with Glenn. He looked up and smiled, but it quickly morphed into worry, "Laurel? What happened?"

I shook my head, "Just got told some things that I don't agree with. Can I have my gun, please?"

His eyes widened and I brought my hands out in front of me, "No, no, I'm going to walk around, I don't want to get caught unaware. Sorry for making you think I was going to go postal and shoot people."

His lips thinned, "You really shouldn't go out by yourself."

"I need to," I pleaded. At least my large eyes were good for something. Clayton said I pulled off a good puss-in-boots expression.

Dale looked to Glenn and he shrugged, "If she got told some of the stuff I overheard Lori bitching about, I'd want to be alone too." His dark eyes flickered over to me and he gave me an apologetic smile. I think I managed a mangled sort of grimace, thankful for him taking my side.

Dale threw his hands up with a huff and shuffled into the camper. I waited at the foot of the steps. He came thumping through the RV, obviously upset, but he turned my .308 over to me and gave me a knife.

"Use this if you can," he said as he handed it to me.

"Will do," I answered back, "Be back in a bit."

I turned and walked off into the field. The grazing grass long and thick, tickled against tops of my legs and the thought of checking for ticks later crossed in and out of mind. I paused at the edge of where the domesticated met the wild and peered into the dark woods.

I could find my way back as long as I was paying attention, but I didn't know if I was focused enough to do that. I decided that walking the perimeter would suffice and started. Not really paying attention to anything other than the soft crunch of dried grass under my feet.

The little pond at the corner of Hershel's property surprised me. It was hidden away by a rolling hill and the farmhouse. It was filled with fetid, bug larvae infested water, some of it having evaporated in the Georgian heat, the rain earlier having failed to satiate the dry ground. There was about seven inches of cracked mud around the rim. It smelled like rot and it made my stomach churn.

Flies and mosquitos buzzed around the top of the remaining water. I absently swiped at my skin, feeling the biting sting of a bug searching for the sustenance it needed to survive. It looked like the pond that had been on my granny's farm, the one that the cows braved wading into to cool off and their tails swishing and swatting the bothersome insects that lived around it.

I watched the surface that was still as glass, almost too caught up in the memories that I had associated with it to notice the tiny stream of bubbles that erupted from somewhere beneath.

It was more than likely a snapping turtle. Those things thrived in disgusting ponds like this. It'd be good eating and I momentarily tried to remember how to set turtle traps. Or I could go all turtle man and slip into the water to catch them by hand. I shivered at that thought.

The bubbles moved slowly and another set joined it. Two turtles and if they were big, they'd feed the group for a few days. The thought of rotters was so far from my mind, trying to think of a good way to catch the snappers that I was so, so, so disappointed when the sloughing noise of wet, putrid skin caught my attention.

I watched in a mix of horror and frustration when two water-logged dead stumbled their way out of the pond. They weren't moving fast but that didn't stop the fear from surging through my body.

I needed to kill them with a knife and that's something that I had never done. Close combat had always made me uneasy. Knowing that all it took was one mistake was what kept me from doing it.

I stepped back as they dragged their feet out of the water, their arms reaching and mouths chomping up and down hungrily at me. I wondered how long they'd been down there.

I gripped the knife in my hand, "It's just two," I murmured to myself, "And they're slow."

But it wasn't just two, because another one limped from out of the woods. I groaned, "You've got to be kidding me. Do you guys have some kind of sound you emit to call to each other?"

This third one must have been newly dead, because he was fast. I looked behind me, no one could see this; the pond was out of the RV's sight line. I stumbled back away from the newbie and slashed out with my knife and he lunged at me.

I bit back a scream and stumbled back, running a short distance away from the rotter. The two from the pond had barely made any ground, their skin sloshed and their legs rubbed together, keeping them from moving.

I focused back on the real danger and looked around frantically. He had reach and was faster than all the rotters I had ever dealt with. I was going to be bit. I just knew it.

I ran to the fence and grabbed at one of the pickets, trying to yank it from the dry ground. Sweat beaded on my forehead and the rough wood left splinters in my skin. I tried another and another, trying to find a loose one as the rotter closed in.

Finally pulling one up and I took a swing at the dead man. The resounding crunch of bone and squelch of fluids from the impact made me gag. The rotter fell to the side and I grab my knife and jammed it in its head without a second thought. I looked back to the pond, noticing that the dead, having been desperate for food, had worked their water-logged skin off their legs and were making up in ground.

I groaned and picked the picket back up, acquiring more splinters and charged at them.

When I finished I wiped the back of hand across my forehead and bent to wipe my blade off on the grass. I turned my palms up and cursed. I'd be plucking fucking wood out of my hands all night.

I rose, my knees popping, and made my way back to camp. They could deal with burning the rotters themselves.

Dale watched me curiously as I reentered camp and I gave him the weapons back, "Three walkers back that way," I pointed over my shoulder, "behind the house," I looked up at him, "I took care of them, don' t worry."

He nodded, "You alright?"

I shrugged, "Bout as fine as I could be, I suppose. Got a needle in that RV of yours?"

His brows shot up, "Yea, why?" I held my hands out to him, "What did you do? Get in a fight with a tree?"

"Fence post."

He snorted and disappeared back into the RV with my weapons and was back a moment later with a small sewing kit.

"Thanks," I said with a smile.

"You want any help?" He asked, motioning to my hands.

"I've got it. Used to do this all the time," I smiled ruefully down at my hands, "Just not on this scale."

"Well, come back and ask if you need any, alright?"

"Sure," I replied as I moved to the campfire. I searched the kit and fumbled around for a long needle. After grabbing it, I set to work hunched over and began picking at my inflamed skin, biting back hisses.

/

Rick was the first back to camp.

I glanced up to see him striding to me, "Of course," I muttered and went back to working on my hands. My right one was proving to be slow. I could write with my toes, but using my left hand? Damn near impossible.

I didn't look up when Rick stopped in front of me. I had plenty of distraction in front of me, "Care to tell me what the hell happened today?"

I shrugged, "Got upset, went for a walk. Killed three rotters, now I'm picking at splinters."

"And what upset you?" He pressed, "Because it could have gotten you killed."

I snorted, "I'm sure no one would be heartbroken over it."

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say. He dropped to a crouch in front of me and jerked the needle out of my hand. I looked up startled into an inferno of blue, "What happened."

I looked away, "It's nothing." I insisted and he sighed. I swear I heard his teeth grind together.

"It's not 'nothing'. What did Shane say to you?" He ground out.

The tears, oh god not tears. I fucking hated crying. I took a deep, shaky breath and ignored the burn erupting behind my eyes. I looked back at Rick, "I apparently haven't made a good impression with Carol and Lori. Shane was just delivering a message. Don't make a big deal out of it."

He rubbed at his eyes viciously, "Fine," he replied as if it pained him. He stood up and paced around.

"Can I have my needle back," I asked quietly. He stopped and looked at me for a moment before turning and grabbing a chair. He sat it down in front of me and grabbed my hand and did something that no one else had ever been able to do, even my parents.

He wielded that needle against me and I didn't feel the rise of panic and abject fear. I watched in amazement before what Shane had said slapped me back to reality, "Lori wouldn't approve of this."

"Lori can kiss my ass," he replied tartly.

I huffed a breathy laugh, "She's your wife, she does have some say over who you're friends with."

His eyes snapped up at me and for a moment I thought that the heat that smoldered in them was directed at me, "She lost that privilege when she decided to lie to me about sleeping with my best friend."

I nodded and looked down again, the needle nothing but a glint in the fire light as he deftly pried chunks of wood from my flesh, "I bet you'd be good at sculpting," I murmured silently.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're very precise and agile with that thing," I said, forgoing the clichéd 'because you're good with your hands' because that'd go down just as well as the Hindenburg did.

He smiled and shook his head, "I was abysmal in high school art."

I scoffed, "Let me guess, you took it because you thought it'd be a free and easy A."

He grinned sheepishly, "Yep."

I laughed and shoved him lightly, "Did you even try?"

"For the first few weeks," he admitted, "Come on you can't tell me you never shirked off a class."

"Band," I answered instantly, "The teacher, when he saw potential, would work with you. If you sucked, like I did, he didn't care what the hell you did," I grinned, "I spent my junior high years setting fires to desks, drawing on people with sharpies and keeping watch so my boyfriend at the time could smoke."

"Such a delinquent," He chided.

"Believe it or not, I never got in trouble."

He cocked a disbelieving brow at me but his mouth quirked at the corner, "I can believe it. I'm sure those big eyes of yours got you out of a lot of trouble."

Chattering caught my attention and I looked behind Rick's shoulder to find Lori's heated glare on me. Shane's arms were crossed tightly over his chest and he looked smug. Carol hovered in the back, looking between worried and disgusted. I yelped when a prick caught against a particularly nasty splinter, "Sorry," Rick apologized, setting back to work on my hand.

I leaned back and watched quietly as he dug persistently at a deep shard of wood. I bit my teeth and lolled my head back. Someone was pecking at my shoulder with a bony finger and I rolled my head over to face them.

"Hi Sophie," I smiled at her, "Whatcha need?"

She fidgeted, "Are you ok?"

My brows furrowed, "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Her eyes darted toward the group of people currently displeased with me. Her eyes narrowed and my eyes widened, "They called you some bad things," she murmured and that caught Rick's attention.

"Sophia," I began, using her proper name, "You shouldn't be mad at your mom. I haven't acted very grown up and said and done some things that made them upset, ok?"

Sophia didn't looked pleased, neither did Rick. Matter-of-fact he looked like he wanted to drag me off to talk some more. A rather harsh and painful jab from the needle elicited a loud yelp from me, "Hey! Easy!"

"Sorry," he grunted and returned the needle to me, "I've got to go, talk." He said haltingly, gesturing with his hands as if it helped him communicate his anger better.

I watched him stalk over to Lori. He grabbed her arm and dragged her off. Shane watched with a murderous expression and Carol wrung her hands.

I looked down at my hands again, there were still numerous splinters dotting my palm. Sophia took the needle gently from fingers and took my hand to situate in front of her. She was gentle but not nearly as quick as Rick. I had to fight the flinches and rising panic in my chest. Sophia looked up, her blue eyes searching, "How'd you do this?"

"Fence post," I grinned.

She looked around, "My momma said something really mean about you," she frowned, "It's not true."

I tipped her head up, "Sophie, sometimes grownups say things without really thinking. Please don't be upset with your mom, alright?"

She nodded but she didn't mean it. I frowned.

/

I had to liberate the needle from Sophia before I had a meltdown and settled down on my sleeping bag, flashlight in my mouth and worked on my right hand again. My hands felt swollen and they throbbed in pain.

I let my head fall back against the wall and huffed.

"What's wrong, girl?"

I cracked an eye open and found Daryl in his usual spot. I shrugged and closed my eyes again after letting my head loll back to its previous position.

"There's some interestin' stories goin' 'round camp."

"Ah yes, gird your loins, the whore is loose." I muttered blithely.

I didn't see it, but his brow arched and I heard the rocker squeak and his boots hitting the old wood of the porch.

The needle was pried from my fingers and I looked up to see him looking at me, his blue eyes intense, "Ya ain't anything of the sort."

I scoffed, "And how would you know? As Shane so elegantly put it, none of you know me."

His jaw tensed and his lips thinned, "Shane's as hypocritical as they come." His eyes narrowed, "You brought that little girl back, didn't ask fer anythin' in return. Yer a good person, Laurel."

He tugged my hand toward him and took the flashlight from me, taking it in his mouth and setting to work on my hand.

I snorted, "What is it with all you and your fascination with causing me pain." I joked and gritted my teeth against the tear of flesh.

He grunted, the flashlight falling from his mouth to his waiting hand, "Don't know 'bout Rick but it's the only way fer me to get off."

His face straight and serious, the only hint of amusement was the tell-tell spark in his eyes. I sputtered and choked on my laugh, trying to keep myself upright as I drew in breath from my hysterics, "Oh god, did you just make a joke?"

He smirked, "'Been known ta happen from time ta time." He drawled then blew a harsh breath through his nose, "Ya ain't putting up a fuss 'bout me stickin' ya with a needle."

I shrugged, "Could be I'm just too tired to freak out or I trust you."

He snorted, "Trust," he repeated, rolling the word around on his tongue.

He continued poking around at my raw flesh, drawing a fair share of hisses and gasps. He frowned and apologized at each one.

He sat back on his haunches, "Be right back." I watched as he strode into the house and was back a few minutes later with alcohol.

I moaned, "Not that! What happened to the peroxide?! Something that doesn't fucking hurt?"

He chuckled darkly, "Quit yer whinin'. It'll be over soon." He poured a generous amount unto my upturned hand and had to hold my wrist to keep me from jerking away. He rubbed his calloused thumb over my skin, whether it was consciously or not, I couldn't be bothered, the burning ate away at my focus. Then he repeated his ministrations on the other hand.

He capped the bottle and watched me, "Ya can't sleep out in the open much longer. I got an extra tent ya can have."

I took a shaky breath and looked up at him, "You sure?"

He nodded, "Wouldna offered if I weren't sure."

He helped me gather my meager belongings and strode out to his tent, dumping my crap on the ground and reaching out for the bagged tent he had stashed inside his.

He walked out a little ways, to where he was standing next to the RV and he paused looking between his tent and where he stood. He shifted a little before sidestepping closer to where he resided and began unpacking the extra tent, setting to work pitching it.

I shifted my weight, "I could help you know."

He looked over his shoulder, "Not with those hands." I huffed and he went back to work. It came along fast, "There ya go."

"Thanks, Daryl."

He nodded and strode away, picking up my stuff and then depositing them inside my new home, "Night," he grunted.

"Night."


End file.
